Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

Amongst the Maoris: A Book of Adventure

Chapter XXXI

page 289

Chapter XXXI.

Down the River Waikato.

By daybreak next day our impulsive young man was once more astir, and he and Tamati and Marāra were on their way. They had not walked for more than an hour when Jack saw, just a little ahead of them, in the midst of a small grove of trees, a tent, and at the entrance, two Maoris running backwards and forwards busily preparing breakfast, apparently. He quickened his steps to a run at this welcome sight, and darting past the native guides, who were too much startled by the suddenness of his appearance to make any exclamation, he rushed into the tent, where Bernard lay still asleep, rolled up in his blanket.

“Get up, chrysalis! get up, sausage roll! and refresh your eyes with the sight of your best and dearest friend, who has traversed the waste and howling wilderness in order to overtake you, you ungrateful fellow.”

For Bernard sat up staring at Jack with more of confusion page 290 and dismay upon his features, than pleasure at the sudden arrival of his friend.

“How did you come here?” asked he at length.

“Walked it, of course, as I could ocularly demonstrate to you were I to divest myself of my clothes, for the soil of the country still clings to me. I have ‘taken seizin’ of the land.”

“What nonsense you do talk, Jack!” said Bernard, with a sigh, as if of regret.

“Why, how low-spirited you seem to be, Hope!” exclaimed Jack, affectionately. “No wonder, though, poor dear fellow! I dare say I can hardly estimate what your position must be, knowing really so little about it.”

“True, Jack,” said Bernard, mournfully. “You cannot in any way estimate my very peculiar position at the present moment.”

“But you are glad to see me, old fellow, are you not?” asked Jack, with a shade of suspicion crossing his mind at the question.

“I can never be otherwise than glad to see you,” Bernard answered, colouring deeply, “for your own sake, Jack; for I have a very great regard for you. There! that's enough,” added he, jumping up. “It must be breakfast-time, I should imagine. I suppose there is no toilet to be performed this morning; at any rate, there is no chance of a wash.”

“Oh, shan't I be glad when we come to some water large enough to wash in! I feel like a crocodile, or an alligator, whichever is the muddiest,” said Jack, laughning.

page 291

“Well, go along and see if breakfast is ready,” said Bernard. “Leave me alone for a few minutes.”

“Wants to say his prayers, I'll be bound,” though Jack to himself, as he wandered away. “Hope is a very queer fellow in some things, but a very good fellow.”

It did not occur to him that the habit of saying his prayers was probably the reason partly of Hope Bernard being such a good fellow. When in the bush with him and Colonel Bradshaw, Jack had observed that Bernard never omitted praying before lying down to sleep, and he had also noticed him on several occasions reading a small book which he carried in his travelling-bag.

Jack was not sorry when Bernard joined him, and began breakfast, for which there was no want of variety, for the country was full of wild duck and teal, and they had no need to encroach much upon the provisions they had brought with them. Jack's spirits were at such a high pitch that after awhile they became infectious, and before they had struck the tent and collected the things together, Bernard found himself chattering nearly as fast as Stanley.

“Of course you can guess why I followed you so quickly,” said Jack, as he strapped the blankets into a bundle.”

“Some sudden change of purpose, I suppose,” said Bernard. “I was hardly surprised. I dare say you were miserable without me.”

“No, sir; it is the steadfastness of my purpose which brought me after you,” Jack answered. “No sooner were page 292 you fairly out of my sight, than I discovered, as it were accidentally, that Maitland is somewhere in the Waikato district.”

Bernard started. “There is no accident in these things,” he said.

“It is strange,” mused Stanley, “very strange indeed. The fact is, you and I are each other's fate, my dear Hope; so, like the Siamese twins, we had best resign ourselves to remain together.”

“Shall we move on?” asked Bernard. “Everything seems ready.”

As they walked, Jack, whose eyes were always open to see and observe everything, stooped and picked up something.

“Look here at this funny thing,” said he to Bernard. “It is like a fungus; but it certainly is alive. Is it not like a caterpillar? It is alive; why, it moves about.”

It certainly was a live thing, like a caterpillar, of a light brown colour; but growing from its tail was a stalk of several inches in length, at the tip of which was a kind of flower, like a bulrush, only very small.

“I found this little rush sticking out of the moss,” said Jack Stanley, “and I pulled it up. Here is another. Yes: there is a caterpillar sticking on this one too. How very odd! They seem to grow together in one.”

“Let us ask one of my fellows about it; he is uncommonly intelligent, and speaks English very well. Here, Stephen,” continued Bernard, calling to one of the Maoris page 293 who had come out with him, “tell us about this thing: is it an insect or a plant?”

“That both,” said Stephen, examining the creature put into his hand; “that the hotete: eats rata-tree, like that,” pointing to the tree from the base of which Jack had picked up the caterpillar; “eats seed of rata, and seed grows into plant inside hotete while hotete is sleeping underground.”

“Is that true, Stephen, or your own invention?” asked Bernard.

“Quite true; all Maoris say so,” answered the man.

“Well, I suppose we must receive the explanation until we get a better,” said Bernard.

“How is it that you are not tattooed, Stephen?” asked Jack.

“I am ‘piponari’ now,” said Stephen, “and no more care for tattoo.”

“What is ‘piponari’?”

“Christian—belong to ‘piponari’ pah.

“I think he means ‘missionary,”’ suggested Hope.

“Yes, yes,” answered Stephen; “we come to ‘piponari’ pah very soon after we pass over Waikato.”

“And Christians do not tattoo themselves?” asked Jack.

“No: leave that now to devils,” said Stephen.

“Who do you mean by devils? I never supposed the devil tattooed himself.”

“Devils are not ‘piponari’ men: devils worship the atuas,” replied Stephen, with complacency.

page 294

“Oh, I see: you mean the heathens by devils?”

“Yes.”

“But that is not very polite, Stephen, to call them devils,” said Hope Bernard; “they would not like to hear themselves called so.”

“Oh, yes,” said the man, simply: “devil Maoris call themselves devils—never mind.”

“But why were not you tattooed before you became a Christian?” asked Jack Stanley. “You were old enough.”

Pakeas not tattoo, and Maori likes to be like Pakea,” said the man.

“And you are a very sensible fellow too,” said Jack.

Nothing of moment occurred until their arrival at the banks of the Waikato river, excepting the dismissal of Jack's man Tamati, who tried to induce Stanley to pay him more than the stipulated two guineas, because he had to return to Auckland alone, and would have to pass a night by himself in the dark. All the Maoris are dreadfully afraid of the dark; but Jack offered him the same compensation he had proposed before—a kicking, —and Tamati expressed himself satisfied without it.

There was a small settlement of natives upon the banks of the river, amongst whom were living two or three Europeans; one of them a German, who was making a collection of insects and of dried ferns and botanical specimens. At this settlement our party procured a canoe to take them up the river. This canoe was cut out of a piece of solid wood. It was not in any way ornamented, as Jack page 295 had seen some of the war-canoes when travelling with Colonel Bradshaw, which canoes are very highly carved and painted, and at times adorned with feathers. It was long and very narrow, not more than two and a half feet wide. Several men took their places in the hollow of it, armed with paddles, and almost naked, excepting for a flaxen cloth round the middle. The bundles were also put in, and Bernard and Jack took their places. The people of the little settlement, who had already made friends in the short time of their acquaintance, crowded upon the bank to see them off, and to shake hands at parting. The rowers commenced a song, as an accompaniment to the noise of their paddles. It sounded prettily on the water, and Jack said he wished he could understand what it was about.

There was so much to admire upon the banks of the river, that several times Jack Stanley, in his excitement, made a sudden movement; not a very violent one, but sufficient to send the slight canoe swaying to one side. One or two of the Maoris exclaimed, and Stephen, the “piponari man,” said in English,

“Sir, Pakea not move about so much—canoe upset some time if too much moving.”

“I say, Jack, you must sit still. Do you hear?” said Bernard.

“All right,” said Jack. “Look, Hope, how very lovely those evergreen trees are! I wonder what they are called. And is not that clematis beautiful?—like white stars page 296 spangled upon the dark green. I think that white clematis is the most exquisite thing I ever saw.”

“But what a pest these sand-flies are,” said Bernard.

“I suppose the Maoris are used to them; they do not seem to take much notice of them. I wish they had but one body amongst them all, that I might smash them at one blow—like that!” exclaimed Jack Stanley, making a prodigious dash at one of the flies settled on the side of the canoe a little distance from him. He had, in his excitement, forgotten all about the equilibrium of the boat, which, but a few moments before, he had been charged to preserve. The canoe staggered for a minute, like a living creature striving to save herself, then flew towards one of the banks and capsized, sending all her occupants floundering in the water.