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Frank Melton's Luck, Or, Off to New Zealand

Chapter VIII. A Sight of Mount Egmont

Chapter VIII. A Sight of Mount Egmont.

After the felicitous introduction at the breakfast table I improved my opportunities. It is true I was a bashful youth, yet when circumstances placed me in the society and good graces of ladies the disagreeable sensation soon wore off. In the present instance it took longer than usual to do so, and I am painfully aware that my conversation was at first remarkably disjointed and ridiculous. The time, however, passed most delightfully until we arrived in sight of New Plymouth, a quaint little township nestling under the majestic Mount Egmont, with its bush-clad slopes and cloud-capped summit. ‘Veritably.’ I thought, ‘my lines are cast in pleasant places,’ as my eyes turned from the brief contemplation of this characteristic sample of the scenery of my adopted country back to the entrancing loveliness of my fair companion. I noticed, as we approached the town, the absence of anything like a wharf, and inquired how passengers managed to land.

‘By surf boats, to be sure. You'll see one put out directly.’

‘Is it possible that a boat could live in such a sea?’

‘Well, it certainly is very rough to-day from the effects of the late gale, but I heard the ancient milliner say she must land, and look, here comes the boat.’

And sure enough, through the heaving surf the boat appeared, now plainly visible on the summit of a gigantic roller, then lost to sight in the trough of the angry sea, propelled by the strong arms of four powerfully-built young fellows with a weather-beaten old tar in the stern.

As the milliner appeared on deck—she had hitherto kept her cabin—the captain strongly recommended her not to venture to land.

‘You had far better come on to Wanganui, and I will land you on our return journey; it will be much calmer then. As it is I wouldn't land myself.’

‘Oh, but I must, captain! If I don't Miss Jones will get all my custom. I positively must, though I am certainly in a great fright.’

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‘Well, if you must, you must. No good arguing with ladies when they've made up their minds, but if you're drowned don't blame me.’

‘How could I if I was drowned, captain? But really do you consider it very dangerous?’

‘Haven't I told you that I wouldn't land myself. Mind, Miss Jones will get all the custom if you are drowned.’

‘But I shouldn't mind if I wasn't there to see it. I hardly know what to say.’

Her courage was fast waning, and when she saw the sort of sling in which it would be necessary for her to sit, she would have given in, when some one mischievously remarked, with no intention, however, of causing her to change her mind, ‘What a fine business Miss Jones has. She'll be delighted if my lady here does not turn up to fulfil her engagements.’

The mention of her adversary renewed her courage, and she seated herself as gracefully as possible in the sling—the possibilities in that direction were extremely limited, it is true—and was hoisted in the air. The man who held the rope was instructed to lower rapidly at a given signal, which would be the exact moment when the boat was brought up under the lady by the rolling waves. The order was given in time, but not instantaneously obeyed. The consequences were disastrous. The boat had been dashed away by the receding wave, and the poor milliner was dipped into the briny ocean. She was again hoisted, and this time made a happier descent, barring that she almost smothered the old man in the stern by dropping fairly on the top of him.

‘Is it an angel from Hiven ye are?’ he muttered, gruffly, as he disengaged himself. ‘They might 'ave dried yer garmints afore they sint ye down, any way.’

After safely landing this unfortunate female and her goods, as well as the mail bags, we proceeded on our journey to Wanganui, and in due time arrived at the entrance to the river, which bears the same name as the town built on its banks. Being high tide at the time, we steamed in without any delay. Directly the gangway was put out the young ladies stepped ashore. I was about to offer my services as their escort, when some friends joined them and they walked off. It now struck me that I had been a fool not to have ascertained who they were, and whereabouts they resided. Strange to say, I had not even heard their surname, for the captain always addressed them at table as Miss Fanny and Miss Alice, being on particularly friendly terms with them after the manner of genial skippers with young lady passengers. Thinking to rectify my mistake, I at once approached him and put the question.

‘Oh, they are daughters of old What's-his name. Hang it all, though it's on the tip of my tongue, I can't hit the name this moment. The old boy married the finest-looking Maori gal in Wanganui,’ and he hurried off to attend to some business, leaving me no wiser than before. I was about to make further inquiries, when I considered my uncle would know all about them, so I troubled no more on the subject than to hope they would prove near neighbours.

Wanganui is a remarkably picturesque little town. The only objection to it as a place of residence was at that time the presence of several sand-hills within the city boundaries. These were made the sport of the strong winds, which often prevailed, and proved very unpleasant to any of the unlucky citizens who were abroad. page 32 I believe this nuisance has greatly abated of late years by the removal of some of these mounds, and the fixing of others by means of the cultivation of binding grasses and plants. I strolled up Victoria Avenue, entered the best hotel I could see, and ordered dinner. After despatching it I inquired of the landlord if he knew a gentleman of the name of Melton any where about.

‘Jimmy Melton? rather!’ exclaimed mine host. ‘He has a run eight or ten miles from here. A fine old fellow he is, too. I thought he would have been down to-day, but he hasn't turned up.

‘Well, he is my uncle, and I have to get to his place somehow. Any coaches running up that way?’

‘Your uncle, you say? I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir. No, sir, no coaches, but I'll find you a saddle horse in ten minutes if you wish it.

‘Very well, do so by all means, and a good one, mind.’

‘Never fear, sir. I don't doubt, like your uncle, you know a good horse when you see one, and what's more, can ride ‘em, too. Bless your life, I would as soon think of flying as of giving Jimmy Melton's nephew a quiet old screw to ride.’

He went out to order the horse, and shortly appeared with a groom leading a remarkably handsome black cob, a regular picture, round as a barrel, clean, supple limbs, head well set on and neat, short ears, which he constantly pricked alternately backward and forward, and flashing eyes—a horse evidently of a nervous, excitable temperament, but one who, with a cool, quiet rider, would carry one from day-light to dark without whip or spur.

‘There's a lively bit of stuff, sir. Your uncle bred him, and he'll carry you to the very door. I bought him for my own riding, and never let him out except to your uncle and one or two particular friends who can ride.’

‘Does he buck?’ I asked, for although a good English cross country rider, I had never experienced the sensation of buck-jumping, which in its true significance is peculiar to colonial horses. Those of Australian breed are most proficient in the art. You meet a few really good ones in New Zealand, but not many. One constantly hears young fellows affirm that their horses are terrors at bucking, but in nine cases out of ten the true designation of this performance would be pig-jumping. I shall describe in a future page my first acquaintance with the real article.

‘Lor, no sir! he don't buck,’ replied the groom. ‘He's only a bit gay and hard to hold.’

I mounted, and certainly my first experience of a New Zealand saddle horse was a very pleasant one. He took me along at a gallop the best part of the way, and seemed insulted if I pulled him into a walk, for he was soon off again of his own accord. His paces were delightfully easy, his stride long and swinging. I had received directions, and before I dreamt that I had achieved half the distance the cob voluntarily came to a standstill at a gate, which I knew must be the entrance to my uncle's property I rode through, and passing over a fine piece of pasture land, came to a stock-yard. A rough-looking old fellow, who was evidently doing something with the cattle, looked round as I approached. He was attired in a blue serge shirt stuffed into a pair of moleskin pants, which in their turn were tucked into the tops of a pair of dirty-looking riding boots. A billy-cock hat and a pair of rusty spurs completed his outfit.

page break
A ship-board mutiny

Mutiny on the Ship—‘Blustering Bob Hurling the Mate Overboard.’

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‘Is the boss at home?’ I shouted to him, to try and appear colonial.

‘Yes, the boss is at home. Who are you?’

‘That is not your business. Where is your master?’

‘I haven't met him yet,’ returned he. This was incomprehensible to me.

‘Come, my good man,’ I said, ‘here's a bob to drink my health. Tell me where the boss is.’

He took the coin I offered, and pocketed it with a broad grin, then said rather stiffly, ‘Well, if you really want to know I guess I'm boss here. What do you want with me, eh?’

Conceive my surprise. I had expected to find a fairly well-dressed and refined-looking old gentleman instead of the sort of man I saw before me. However, I quietly recovered myself. ‘Oh, you are my uncle Jim, are you, sir?’ I remarked calmly.

‘That depends whether you are worth recognizing. An unmitigated young blackguard, I expect, like I was when I came out. However, we'll chance it. Here goes,’ and he grasped me warmly by the hand. ‘We didn't expect you yet awhile, Frank. Why didn't you write and let us know? We'd have met you then.’

‘Father did write and told you when I sailed,’ I answered.

‘Never got the letter, then. Thought it rum I didn't hear.’

‘Well, I'm certain he wrote.’

Long afterwards it was discovered that the letter was never posted. The careless boy to whom it was entrusted lost it, and was too frightened to admit it.

After mutual inquiries the old gentleman remarked: ‘Oh, you'll do. I'll soon knock you into shape. We're mustering and branding, so you're right in it, my boy. We'll see how you can ride to-morrow.’

‘I shan't be much amiss at that, uncle. I've followed the hounds for four seasons.’

‘Heading wild cattle is different to following the hounds, my boy,’ he replied.

I now handed him some letters which the postmaster, hearing at the hotel I was bound for my uncle's, had asked me to deliver. He opened one immediately, and after perusing it exclaimed: ‘What steamer did you come by? The Stormbird, wasn't it?’

‘Yes, uncle.’

‘Why, here's this letter. I ought to have received it a week ago. My daughters say they'll be down to-day. Were there any ladies on board?’

‘No white ones,’ I replied, and at the thought of one of my travelling companions I was by no means white either, for I found, to my disgust, I was blushing like a school-girl.

‘What then?’ he queried, sharply.

‘Why, there were two Maori, or rather half-caste, girls on board. Rather nice-looking, too.’ Rather nice-looking! This was a very mild version of my real opinion.

‘Rather nice-looking girls, eh?’

‘Well, yes, they were very decent-looking, and they seemed to have some idea of civilized life, too. I talked to them a little. They must have had a good-looking father, for the Maori women I saw in Auckland were hideous. I can't think how any white man could marry them, but I suppose it's only the lower class who do.’

I rambled on like this to hide my confusion at the thought of the girl who had made such an impression on me, but I was far more confounded at my uncle's next remark.

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‘Quite right, my boy,’ in his most sarcastic tone. ‘Only the lower classes do such a thing. I guess, though, those young ladies are your cousins. I am glad you consider them decent-looking. So they have some idea of civilized life! And you think their father must be good-looking! It's grand to have the approval of a puppy like you.’

‘Oh, uncle, forgive me. We never heard you were married, and how could I guess they were your daughters?’

‘Well, I'll forgive you this time. Take my advice, boy. Don't talk about the habits of life in a country you know nothing about. I never bothered to tell them at home I was married. You couldn't know.’

‘Where is my aunt, Mrs Melton, then? in the house, I presume.’

‘No, nor in her grave neither, though she's dead.’

‘Good heavens! what can he mean?’ I thought. ‘I suppose she's only just dead, and isn't buried yet. Oh, uncle, I am so sorry for your loss. When does the funeral take place?’ I replied, not knowing what to say.

‘Funeral take place—never!’ said the stern old man, and I noticed a tear in his eye, which I doubt was very rarely moistened that way. ‘I tell you she's dead. Dead! yes, and her bones scraped. She begged ‘em not to. I did my best to stop it, but it was no good. The chief of the tribe wouldn't let her off. But,’ he continued, with a heavy sigh, ‘I'm forgetting the girls. I must be off to meet them. They'll be expecting me. Oh, here's your bob, Frank,’ handing it back. ‘It rather hurt my dignity to be offered money to drink your health.’ The old gentleman's countenance relapsed into a sardonic grin. ‘Halloo, Rewi, old boy. You want to be taken notice of, do you?’ he exclaimed, as the cob would be restrained no longer, but started rubbing his nose against his old master's coat. ‘That's the way we breed ‘em here, Frank. Grand cob, isn't he? Worth a hundred and fifty any day in the English market.’

As I was rather tired, I did not offer to go with my uncle to Wanganui, although I was very anxious to meet my fair shipmates in this new character as cousins. I happened to mention to uncle that I had not heard their names on board, and I did not think they had heard mine.

‘I'll have some fun with ‘em then,’ he said. ‘Tell 'em you came a week or so ago. Won't they stare when they see you're the cousin?’

I followed him up to the house, a comfortable, roomy, single-storied one, with a verandah on three sides, on to which most of the rooms opened with French windows. It was built on a gentle rise, and afforded an extended view of the surrounding country. My uncle shouted for Charlie, who turned out to be another cousin, a nice-looking boy of fourteen, but of darker complexion than his sisters.

‘Here's your new-chum cousin, Charlie. Show him where to put the cob, then tell Tim to put the two chestnuts in the waggon. Your sisters are come. I must be off for them. Take care of Frank.’

Charlie took my horse, and exchanged greetings with him as an old friend. I then watched them catch and harness the chestnuts. They were evidently well bred, but grooming appeared a luxury to page 35 which they were little accustomed, as their tails nearly swept the ground. The vehicle was a light American express waggon, fitted with seats moveable at will, so that it would answer either for passengers or luggage. The harness was strong, but remarkably light and simple, consisting solely of bridles, collars, traces, reins, and pole straps.

Uncle Jim appeared ready for the road. He had thrown off his stockyard attire, and I now noticed in him a strong likeness to my father. There was, of course, the natural difference of appearance between the bronzed and heavily-bearded stock-owner, who was out in all weathers, under sometimes an almost tropical sun, and the English clergyman, who, except when he happened to take his gun (for he was fond of shooting), always carried an umbrella to shield him from the rain, or excessive rays of the sun on hot summer days. I could now plainly understand the resemblance which had so puzzled me between the two sisters and my father. My uncle jumped into the conveyance, seized the reins, and shouting to Tim to let go the horses' heads, they were off like a shot, with a rear and a plunge which threatened the traces. We then returned to the house and had tea, Charlie entertaining me with stories of his own and his friend's adventures and prowess, such as feats of horsemanship, cattle-mustering, pig-hunting, and purchases, sales, and exchanges of horses and dogs. This conversation, much as I longed to partake of these amusements, became at length very monotonous, and I wished it was bed-time, so that I could quietly think over my extraordinary good fortune in finding myself possessed of a cousin (for I confess my thoughts confined themselves to one) of such desirable charms. Charlie had remarked that they were sure to be at a friend's, who would keep them till late, so that they could not return till near midnight. I therefore made up my mind to retire, and see them to more advantage in the morning. They would be very tired, and it would be more considerate on my part to defer the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance.