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Chapter X.

Bernard and Stanley, thus preceded and accompanied, were conducted to the house, where they were met at the entrance by a graceful English lady—Mrs. Bradshaw, the wife of their new friend.

Everything inside the house was as comfortable as things could possibly be, and reminded one out here, in the midst of the bush, of all the elegance and refinement of an English home; with the one exception, that all the servants in the house and all the workmen about the premises were Maoris.

Mrs. Bradshaw seemed very pleased at receiving her visitors, as in fact she was. It is a real pleasure to see new, and above all English, faces, in the bush; and she lost no time in spreading the table with every sort of food which was procurable.

During supper—a meal which was not hurried over— page 99 the host spoke perfectly openly of himself and of his former life.

“I am,” said he, “or perhaps I should rather say I was, a colonel in the English army; and my present life may seem to you rather a contrast to the days when I lived in town quarters with one of the gayest of regiments.”

“It must be,” observed Jack. “Do you never regret it, sir?”

“I prefer the present state of things on the whole,” answered Colonel Bradshaw. “I like this life.”

“But you must be dull occasionally, sir?” said Bernard.

“When I want a change, I go to Wellington or to Auckland; but I have too much to do to be dull. It is want of occupation makes dulness. I was often dull, I admit, during my early idle days, when I had nothing to do but to amuse myself after the day's parade was over; or, as some people express it, to kill the time.”

“But how do you manage about books?” asked Bernard.

“Ah! books is the one drawback: we have, of course, as you see, a number of books of our own, and whenever I go to town I bring home new ones; but I did at first terribly miss the daily papers and the magazines. I can assure you, sir, a week-old newspaper is a treat to us: we do not estimate the luxury of these things until we have to do without them. In years past I could not have imagined myself reading so many times over the same books as I do now.”

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“In the olden days, when libraries were limited to about half a dozen volumes, one must have read them over more frequently still,” observed Bernard.

“After all,” said Mrs. Bradshaw, “it comes to much the same thing. People who read every book they come across, read it and forget it usually as soon as read. It is only a few books that we really remember, and those few we go back to again and again.”

“It is wonderful how much a man finds he can do without when he is obliged to forego it,” resumed Colonel Bradshaw, “or rather how little he can do with. This sort of life, at least, ought to teach us one lesson: that having food and raiment, we should therewith be content.”

“But I suppose, sir,” said Bernard, “that you contemplate some day returning to the old life.”

“Not the old life!” said Colonel Bradshaw, “if by that you mean the idleness and uselessness of former days; but the old country, yes. I suppose we both,” and he glanced at his wife, “look forward to ending our days at home.

“And now, young men,” resumed the Colonel after a pause, “may I ask where you are going?”

“We are going to Auckland,” answered Bernard.

“To Auckland! on horseback? and by yourselves?” he asked again.

“I suppose so,” said Bernard: “why not, sir?”

“I should certainly advise you not to do so,” returned Colonel Bradshaw. “Do you know anything of the way? Have you ever been over the road before?”

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“We have only been in the country a few days,” answered Jack: “we know positively nothing. Cannot we ride to Auckland?”

“You will find your horses very much in the way, I am afraid,” answered the Colonel. “The bush is in some places so thick that it is difficult to get through it: even if you managed to get with your horses to Auckland, you could hardly take them beyond—if you intend going beyond; and I suppose you have come out in order to see the country?”

“Partly,” said Jack, blushing, “but I have an object beyond in going to Auckland. I may not go any farther, though,” he added, “I should certainly like to do so.”

“You must provide against contingencies,” said Colonel Bradshaw. “Do you know the language?”

“Not a word,” answered Bernard.

The Colonel. laughed aloud, then said, “Excuse me, but that is so like a couple of Englishmen, to attempt a perfectly unknown country, knowing nothing of the route and nothing of the language. How do you expect to find your way?”

“We have got a chart of the country,” said Bernard.

“That is of no use. And suppose you got into difficulty—suppose you got amongst the Maoris who can speak no English? What two very unthinking or very sanguine young men you must be!”

“But,” said Jack, “we have hitherto got on very well: page 102 with the exception,” he added, “of losing our way once for a time.”

“You have been two or three days, I suppose, travelling from Wellington, and, during that time, you confess you have managed to lose your way once already; and when you did not get astray, it was because you kept by the bank of the river. By that means you will see the river, certainly, but you will not learn much of the country.”

Bernard and Stanley looked somewhat blank. Colonel Bradshaw had put things in quite a different light from that in which they had hitherto looked upon them.

“What would you advise us to do, sir?” said Jack, presently.

“Well,” said Colonel Bradshaw, good-naturedly, “I can help you, I think, as far as Auckland, for I am going there myself. I shall start to-morrow. Would you like to go with me? I understand the Maori language, and I shall take a couple of my native servants with me, for I wish to go through the bush. Shall we go together?”

“Yes! oh, yes!” exclaimed Jack Stanley; “but what shall we do about the horses?”

“Leave them here. I will give orders that they shall be cared for, unless you would prefer sending them back to Wellington.”

“If they are not in your way, sir.”

“Not in the least: and, if you do not return this way, you can send for them when you are back in Wellington. It is but a two days' journey.”

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With many thanks, Stanley and Bernard bade good night to their newly-made friends, who seemed to them in so short a time to have become acquaintances of long standing; for, in the bush, there is not much time wasted in preliminary courtesies and bows.

Before starting, upon the following morning, Colonel Bradshaw said to his guests,

“If you will follow my advice, you will alter your costumes in some degree. Your dress might do for riding; but I am afraid you will find it inconvenient in walking through the bush. You ought each of you to have a pair of stout leather gaiters to come up as high as your knees, and I should advise you to leave your coats and any superfluous clothes you may have behind you. Your flannel shirts will be quite sufficient for you at this time of year; and we are not likely to be invited to any very gay entertainment: if we are we will go in fancy dress.”

“The young men again looked rather at a loss, until Colonel Bradshaw added,

“I can provide you with gaiters: I have several pairs lying about: you are perfectly welcome to them.”

“I am sure I do not know how we can ever thank you sufficiently,” said Bernard.

“There is nothing to thank for that I can see,” returned the host. “If you think there is, you can pay me off some day, if I ever return to England, when you are a rich man with a fine estate.” And he slapped Jack Stanley upon the shoulder.

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Jack flushed and bit his lip, and said,

“Very little chance of that, sir, so far as I am concerned. Bernard may some day be a rich man with a fine estate, but such things are not for me.”

He spoke with a touch of bitterness in his tone, which surprised the Colonel; but the latter only observed,

“Riches and fine estates do not always bring comfort. Perhaps you have less care without them.”

So off they started on foot, the Maori attendants carrying the blankets and mackintoshes, and leading the way through the thick masses of undergrowth. At every few steps there was something near to call forth their admiration. Jack Stanley was incessantly exclaiming at the beauty and luxuriance of the flowering plants, and the waving feathery ferns, and the brilliant furze and lichens which ornamented the huge trunks of the trees. The variety of insects also, especially the butterflies, filled him with delight.

“I detest flies and gnats and such torments,” said he; “but I have an idea that I must be fond of insects generally. I have wished I was something of an entomologist since I have been in this country.”

“My dear boy,” said the Colonel, “it seems to me that the lives of most men are made up of wishing that they had taken more advantage of opportunities past; but the opportunity is not past with you: you are so young that you cannot have wasted so many opportunities as most. If you have a taste for entomology, by all means cultivate page 105 it: you can collect the insects now, and get them named for you at some future time. I have a sandwich-box with me; I will confiscate it to your use. We must find some old soft wood to take the place of cork; and as to pins, I think we shall shortly meet with thorns quite sharp enough to take their place. Do you draw?”

“Yes.”

“So I supposed from your admiration of nature: you will have plenty of opportunities of sketching here. Ah! don't touch that.”

“Why not?” asked Jack, putting down again a small lizard which he had caught the moment before. “Is it venomous? it looks innocent enough.”

“I hope none of those fellows saw you,” said the Colonel, glancing towards the Maoris, who were a few steps in advance. “You should not let them see you touch a lizard: they are what they call atuas or demons, and any insult offered to an atua will, in their opinion, be sure to be revenged before long. If you had killed that little beast, and any misfortune had subsequently happened to a member of our party, you would have been looked upon as the author of it.”

“But I had no intention of killing the poor little thing.”

“I did not know what you might do: some people are very thoughtless; but without killing it, you may have been supposed to have insulted it by catching it. Two of those men are heathens, I am sorry to say, and, like page 106 the rest of their heathen countrymen, dreadfully superstitious and bigoted.”

At this moment there was a shout from the Maoris, followed immediately afterwards by the outburst from the thick mass of ferns, of an animal, which, for the first moment, neither Bernard nor Stanley recognized. Perhaps, knowing themselves to be in the New Zealand bush, they would have been less startled by meeting with some much more out-of-the-way animal than a common pig; but we are not used to seeing pigs at home rushing frantically through wild underwood, with all their bristles on end, and their white tusks exposed. Colonel Bradshaw was by no means surprised; but as the creature passed him, he fired and hit him in the head. By that time, Bernard was sufficiently recovered from his surprise to follow suit. He fired, and piggy rolled over with a prolonged squeal.

“I knew we should probably meet with one of those gentry about here,” said Colonel Bradshaw. “He will keep us in provisions for a couple of days.”

“How did he come here?” asked Stanley, contemplating the dead pig gravely, and feeling very much as if they had been poaching upon some neighbour's farm-yard.

“Oh, the place is full of them,” answered the Colone. “I believe they were first brought into the island by Captain Cook. I am sure hundreds of people here have to thank him for doing so—for pigs and for potatoes. But it must be getting on towards feeding-time, I should imagine by my personal sensations. When we have cut page 107 up our game, we will cook some of him before we go farther.”

“Queer sort of game,” observed Bernard.

“Uncommonly good sort, as you will acknowledge when you taste him, young man,” said the Colonel.

It was necessary to find something like an open space, and then to clear it further before venturing to light a fire; but when the pig, or part of him, was roasted and set before the party, Jack and Bernard thought they had never tasted any pork so delicious. There was one of the Maori men who served as guides, who attracted the attention of Jack Stanley by his constantly being discovered looking at him attentively. Jack could not stoop to examine a moss, or to gather a flower, but this man seemed to be watching him. He spoke of it to Colonel Bradshaw; but the latter treated it as a fancy on the part of Jack, and thought no more of it. This Maori's name was Karee; he was very dark complexioned for a Maori, and by no means well formed; but Colonel Bradshaw said he was a sharp clever fellow, and he had always found him a good servant, and that it was not fair to go by appearances.