Chapter XXXIII.

Edgecombe.

Edgecombe was, at the time we write, a quaint little town, with narrow streets and pebbled pavements. Not a straggling town, like those mostly to be met with in the colonies, where each citizen must have an acre of ground for his diminutive shop front. The danger of a sudden attack from the warlike natives in the neighborhood had compelled the citizens to cluster under the shadow of their citadel, as did the Tyrians and Greeks when founding a colony in times of old, when Italy was a barbarous land, and the pillars of Hercules the boundaries of the world. Indeed, I am not certain whether a bull's hide could not have encircled the place, especially if the hide was taken from one of the enormous shorthorns grazing within sight of the town. Perhaps the African cattle of those olden times were as large as our own, only if I had been able to give poor Dido a hint, I would have suggested to her the choice of a four-year-old steer in preference to a bull, as the hide would have cut up better.

The citadel at Edgecombe looked down on the little township protectingly, and Edgecombe itself looked out on the sea. The wall of the citadel was of stout wood, high and loop-holed, and its long slits of eyes gazed far over the surrounding undulating country. Inside the wall were a few buildings of corrugated iron, con- page 14 stituting the barracks, and a well had been sunk to a tremendous depth in the middle of the enclosure to supply the garrison with water. Oftentimes had the women and children of the little township, and from the surrounding country hurried up the hill into this citadel for protection, carrying their valuable effects and household gods with them; whilst their husbands, brothers, and fathers prepared to meet the advance of the foe. The Edgecombeites had grown used to this sort of thing, and were always prepared to shift their lodgings. We are told that such is the case with some tribes in Central Africa, who, when they think they have built a town in a wrong place, shift everything; it not being an uncommon sight for a town of a couple of thousand houses to be rebuilt in a couple of months. Many a hard fight had taken place almost within sight, and well within sound of Edgecombe, and the little churchyard at the foot of the hill testified to the number of the slain. The numerous gravestones did not mark the resting place of single occupants, but in many instances half a score of names were monumently emblazoned upon a single stone. Here rank and file lay in seried rows, equal at last in death, while mother earth enshrouded the remains of all alike, and the citadel above protected the enclosure.

The grave unites; where e'en the great And rest.
And blended lie th' oppressor and the opprest!

In most country places in New Zealand the graveyards are open unprotected places, generally in a state of ruin and neglect, but the citizens of Edgecombe took some pride in their churchyard, and endeavoured to preserve the handsome monumental stones over the graves. For here lay the gallant and the brave, who formerly had protected them, and who had yielded up their lives in fair and honorable fight. The passing visitor may often be seen conning the names engraven on the stones; knowing little of the cost of the struggle that formerly had checked the Maori from driving the white man into the sea, and thinking little of the many bitter tears that had fallen in England from the relatives of the slain when the news of the dead had reached home.

Nor could the Maori foe be called a dishonorable enemy. Fairly enough had he given notice of his intention to fight, and fairly enough were the outsettlers warned to leave their homesteads. First came the trouble, generally about the land, then ensued negotiaton, followed by distrust and preparations for war. Strongholds were built, stores were accumulated, potatoes were dug and corn harvested. Then perhaps a couple of white men, who had foolishly exposed themselves to danger, were killed, and the Government knew that war was really meant, for that was the Maori method of declaring war. Herein our readers will notice the difference of the antipodean practice. Tacitus relates that Augustus to prevent civil strife enjoined the tribune appointed to the custody of his person, "not to delay to slay Agrippa whensoever he himself had completed his last day." At least Tiberius said so, and Agrippa duly "passed away." The Maories always kill a man to stir up strife. In Africa a different practice prevails. There, or at least in some parts, it is related that when men grow very old, or tell very long stories, they are killed, we imagine by way of example, which circumstance should prove a warning to some of the readers of this narrative. British troops, when British troops were in the colony, were sent in thousands, and their tents gleamed white o'er the country side. But British troops were almost useless in the bush, and their zeal in the open was restrained by the conflicting counsels of the chief commanders. Many a time were the men marched out to attack the enemy, and many a time were they marched back to camp again without making the assault, whilst officers threw down their swords passionately, and men sullenly piled their muskets.

Then, when the British troops were withdrawn, and the colonists had to defend themselves, how well did the small number of colonial Volunteers follow the enemy through the dense heart of the pathless forest. "Strike right in until we come to a track," was the maxim of a tough-hearted little commander, and what such a march as that meant is only known to any one who took a part in it. Bad is the best in a New Zealand bush, with its dense undergrowth and entangling creepers. But steadily our fellows pierced the bush, crossed rivers, scaled precipices, straight to the place where a Maori stronghold had been erected, not knowing from one moment to the other that a hostile fusilade would cut them to pieces, and fancying every now and again that gleaming eyes followed at the side of their line of march.

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With them, too, went the friendly natives; brave, patient allies, ever ready with good advice, and ever ready to fight. Pity is it that their advice had not more closely been followed, for by following it many a slaughter would have been saved. How often has some friendly native extricated our men from the heart of the bush, remaining with the column at the risk of his own life, and patiently waiting the weary march of the wounded and dying I Easily would it have been for him to have made back to his own people, but he did not do so. All honor to such actions. May they be better known and recorded than they have been hitherto.

My readers will consequently perceive that there was an air of the broad arrow over the little town of Edgecombe, and over its inhabitants as well. Many Majors and Colonels resided there, and society wore a strong dash of the military aspect. The rest of the colony charged the Edgecombites with being fond of a little war, as it made trade good, in consequence of Government money having to be spent in the place; but this was a calumny. The real truth of the matter was that the good people of Edgecombe had to bear the brunt of mistaken land legislation. Situated so far from the great ports—where the Government held its meetings; where the war ships of England anchored, and where population was so numerous that the Maori would have been foolish to show his head—and surrounded by the thickest of the Maori tribes, what wonder is it that the fostering sore of Maori discontent all over the colony here found a head and broke upon the peaceful inhabitants. Here the Maori could strike, and he did not fail to do so, for with the great unpathable bush behind him, he felt as secure in the face of 10,000 British troops as of ten. Here, too, the land itself was of the best quality, and he fought for its possession; while just as tenaciously the Saxon invader, knowing the value of the land, fought for the foothold he had gained upon it. Well is it reader for you and I that we never took up our residence in Edgecombe, or we might long ere this have lost the number of our mess.

"I see you are taking a couple of fine beasts up with you Easthorpe," said Major Gordon, the worthy Resident Magistrate of the place to Charley, suddenly meeting our two friends in the street. "Are you not afraid the Maoris will turn you out of Terua some day?"

"No, Major," replied Charley, "I am not. You must send me word when to come in and take up my quarters in the barracks."

"Well, I don't make any rash promises, but if you have nothing better to do come and dine with me this evening, and bring your friend Mr. Manning with you, and we will talk about it. I have a word or two to say to you."

"What is up," said Charley, after Major Gordon had left them. I wonder whether we are going to have another war?"

"Not we," replied Philip with all the candour of blissful ignorance. "And if we do, I shouldn't much care."

"Perhaps you wouldn't, Manning, but what about Terua and all my improvements?"

"Yes, that is an awkward question," said Philip, still thinking, however, of himself. "But let us go and see the bulls fed, and then we can see what the Major has to say."

Major Gordon's house was pleasantly situated in the suburbs of the town. It was a plain but comfortable one-storied villa residence, surrounded by a wide verandah. The pinus insignis, macrocarpa and eucalypti sheltered it completely from the fierce winds from the sea, leaving room, however, for a good view of the harbour from the front windows of the dwelling. The yellow flowers of the silvery acacia hung pendantly over the verandah, and creepers of honeysuckle and jessamine encircled the posts and trailed along the top. The mildness of the climate, tempered by the sea, enabled a wealth of geranium and fuschia to blossom nearly the whole year round, while the luxuriant shrubs and green carpet of closely-mown grass proved the richness of the garden soil. Little trouble was there in cultivating that soil. "Stick anything in, sir, and it will grow" was the gardener's estimate of its capability. From all parts of the world had Major Gordon obtained seeds and plants, and the pride he took in his floral treasures constituted some of the happy moments of his life.

The wide hall of the dwelling was ornamented with Maori weapons. Club, spear, mat, and stone adze hung upon its walls, and a curious collection of musketry added to the warlike air of the whole. Where those guns originally came from, or page 16 how they fell into Maori hands, was and still remains a mystery. There hung the good Brown Bess, good to miss fire once out of three times; a gun that had caused the original owner to use more bad language, perhaps, and to eat more powder—in the hurry of biting off the ends of his cartridges—than usually fell to the lot of mankind. Above it loomed a heavy blunderbuss, with its huge bell-mouth, the pride for a time of some ancient Maori chief, who had given for it more bales of flax and cured heads of slain friends and enemies than we should like now to recount. Below hung other quaint weapons : long raking Spanish muskets, with carved barrels and silver-ornamented stocks, utterly useless at a hundred yards; old Enfields and new ones, Sniders and needle rifles. All were there, the representatives of a century and a half, perhaps, of modern warfare. Heavy unservicable piratical-looking pistols hung peacefully on the walls, their muzzles breathing weird some tales of buccaneering days long gone bye. A Malay kreese and the Major's own sword hung side by side, while some half-rusted but ugly-looking bayonets, of an extremely old type, completed the collection. These weapons the Major had gathered from friendly and hostile natives. The latter taken, likely enough, from the stiff fingers closed around the barrels in death. Anything that could fire shot or slug was eagerly sought for by the Maoris of old, as it still is even now, for the terrible raid of Hengi, who swept the Northern Island of the colony in olden days with his then newly-acquired present of muskets, scattering death and desolation in every village, driving the inhabitants into pathless swamps, and leaving hecatombs of slain behind him, first proved to the native the necessity of arming himself with something that could meet a similar attack. Many a chief carefully dried the tattooed head of a slain enemy (it did not matter whether the man was actually an enemy, provided he was well tattooed), and many a score of women prepared numberless bales of flax, to exchange with the passing trader from Sydney for the coveted musket and keg of powder. But all those days are gone bye, and the Maori can purchase as much material and ammunition as he cares to pay for, stringent laws to the contrary notwithstanding. Occasionally dray-loads of guns have been seen to pass through Edgecombe. But wherever there is a restriction in the sale of war material to savage tribes, it is curious to relate that the said tribes usually buy such material, not singly, but by the dray-load.

Major Gordon was in his garden when Charley and Philip opened the front gate, and after being shown all the rare plants, and before going into the house, they stopped to look at the wide expanse of sea and noble beach below.

"Aye, Mr. Manning," said the Major, "the beach is worth looking at from this point. I could tell you a few queer stories about that beach too, only we musn't keep the ladies waiting for dinner." And the Major led the way into his house.

In the drawing-room our two friends found Mrs. Gordon and three of her daughters, tall, slim, quiet-looking girls, who had, however, passed through all the troubles of the early settlement of the place, with as much composure as English girls ordinarily do under such circumstances. Once, though, they had to go into the barracks for a few days, and much objected to the giving-up of their own comfortable home. Whenever troubles followed afterwards their one wish was "not to have to go into the citadel." They could all talk the Maori language fluently, and from the lips of an English girl, native languages appear to flow pleasantly. On the whole, in spite of the wars, they rather liked the natives, and each had sundry female friends of her own in the enemy's camp who were always ready to tell them "Not to be afraid; but that they (the friends) would say when the fighting was going to begin." Indeed, Mrs. Gordon completely relied upon an old crony of a native woman to tell her such news, which the old woman usually did; and, if the truth were known, the Major himself paid attention to such warnings. But I am speaking now of days long gone bye, when the Gordons were little girls, and rather enjoyed an outbreak, if the truth could really be fathomed, for then their Maori or half-caste nurse could tell them fearful tales in the twilight, and send them wonderingly to sleep. The bad part of the affair to them was having to go into the barracks. That they always objected to.