The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 40

Chapter XLVII. — A Retrospect

Chapter XLVII.

A Retrospect.

A Year has passed away. Charley Easthorpe is back again at Terua, and Philip Manning is staying for a few days with him. Huru's death had settled the war. The Maoris had been taught a lesson, the only true lesson too that we can teach them. Nothing satisfies the savage mind like a good thrashing, and nothing renders it more obedient and amenable to the laws for many a year afterwards.

But at any rate Colonel Whitmore had given them a lesson this time, fifty having been taken prisoners in the pah, sixty killed, forty-five wounded, and about sixty managed to escape through the swamp, while our list of casualties happened to be exceedingly small. Peace was immediately restored throughout the island, and after attending poor Henry's funeral, Charley hurried down to Hamilton. The news of Henry's death had preceded him, and he found, when he arrived, truly a house of grief and mourning, Mrs. Easthorpe not being expected, to live, and Mary in great trouble. The roadway strewn with tan and straw, to deaden the noise of passing vehicles, he noticed as he walked up to the house, and wondered to himself whether his aunt too was dead.

His cousin Mary met him at the door, but would not allow him to enter the house, in consequence of the dreaded typhoid fever.

"Oh, Charley, Charley! how could I have been so cruel to poor Henry," cried Mary, holding his hand in both of hers, and sobbing quietly, for she had not long been told the sad news, and was reproaching herself for many an unkind word uttered in former days. It is not until death deprives us of some friend or relation that we really see what erring creatures we are.

"Never mind, Mary," replied Charley, consoling her, "you didn't mean it all."

"Oh! but I did, Charley," sobbed Mary, "and now he is gone, and I can never ask him to forgive me."

"But he did forgive you, Mary, and sent you his dying love," replied her cousin, at which Mary only sobbed afresh. What would she not have given to have recalled those unkind words? But Charley had to be told about Mrs. Easthorpe, and the two sat down on the verandah, and he learnt how near death's door his aunt was also.

It is a curious thing to find in a new country how virulently typhoid fever attacks the colonists. One would have thought that humanity would be more free from the diseases that afflict people in the older lands, yet it is not so. Some one unaccountably is suddenly stricken down with the dreaded fever, and we marvel at our ignorance of its cause or origin. Truly the faculty of medicine is an occult science. In some towns it is said to be more unhealthy to live upon the hill sides than upon the level land. In others vice versa, the contrary is found to be the case. Some ascribe the spread of the disease to one thing, some to another, but as to its origin, that remains a mystery.

"Yes," said Mary sadly, "we do not yet know whether mamma will recover, but if she does, it will be entirely owing to Dr. Manning. He will be here presently, and then you can see Katey." Hereupon poor Mary stifled another sob, and looked as if it was a foregone conclusion that Charley was at once to interview Miss Goring.

"What, is Katey here?" exclaimed Charley.

"Yes," replied Mary; "she has been staying here ever since mamma has been ill. "Mrs. Douglas came and stayed for a short time, but the danger of contagion became too great, and now she only comes to see how mamma is getting on. Oh! Charley," said Mary, with a little sob, "you would'nt believe how people avoid coming to the house. I meet every one here where we sit."

What need is there to continue this recital of grief. Suffice it to say that Philip Manning stuck to his post, even when the other doctors had given Mrs. Easthorpe up, and pulled her through the fever safely, by which he made a great name in Hamilton, and assured himself a good practice. What need to tell of the heroism of little Katey Goring, who so nobly assisted Mary; or of Charley's utter recklessness in pushing his way into the fever-stricken house, and for a few days trying his best to cheer up the two girls. There was, however, little harm done by this, as he had to stay with Philip while he remained in town, and ran just as much chance of the danger of contagion from him as from Mary or Kate Goring. By which it will be seen that we have a very poor opinion of Philip, or of any of the doctors for that matter, being proof from the spread of disease, and that, so far as we are concerned, we would neither stay with nor have anything to do with a medical man who would be likely to bring us into danger. The gentle reader will please to note the utter unselfishness of these remarks; yet is not the world unselfish, and by the world we mean our cousins and other relations in this matter of sickness.

As soon as Mrs. Easthorpe was out of danger, Charley had to return to Terua, where he found the rams all over the country, the cattle in all the paddocks, and the sheep pretty well mixed up again. Olson had stuck to his post manfully, and done his best to keep the gates shut and slip-pannels closed; but in the summer time, when water runs short, where will not stock go to? Fences certainly will not hold them. We have in our mind as we write a cow, a poley cow, who, with her calf (a poley calf, too, by the way), carefully took the country as she found it, and wandered about at her own sweet will. Nothing would hold her. She was what is termed and known among dairy people as a "poker," and truly she was an inveterate one. There was nothing wild or vicious about the beast. On the contrary, both she and her calf looked meek and mild; but place them where you would, out on the run, back they would come, for the especial purpose of getting into the orchard. Wherever the mother went the calf followed, and the knowing, yet sleepy look of that calf's eye, when at the mother's heel, was a sight to make the stockman dance with agony. He poor man had knocked up one of his horses, and broken a whip or two after and over that cow and calf. If then he swore a little, let us hope that it will not be scored up against him too severely. Special reference is made to this matter, for the purpose of calling the attention of the world to the fact that poley cattle are the worst sort of "pokers," and the determined enemies of peaceful and contented minds amongst stockmen. Therefore, those who intend breeding the "Black Angus" had better look to their fences.

Charley Easthorpe, however, soon had things placed in order again, and from that day to this, nothing has disturbed the even tenor of his way. Terua is now almost capable of carrying the forty thousand sheep poor Henry spoke about. The fossil, Olson, still remains upon his beloved boundary, having well earned such a pension, by sticking to his post during the brief war. At present Charley has found it necessary to set about the erection of a neat substantial homestead; a matter of time, as the timber would have to be sawn, and bricks made upon the ground. For what purpose Charley was building a house we cannot yet exactly say. Perhaps Beeton's little cottage was really too small. Perhaps Master Charley had other ideas.

Mr. Easthorpe had returned from England, shortly after Mrs. Easthorpe's recovery, and that gentleman was very thankful to Philip for his attention to his wife.

"It was Philip who saved her papa," said Mary, one winter's evening, when the two happened to be alone together, sitting by the fire; Mr. Easthorpe in his great easy chair, and Mary in one of her old attitudes by his side.

"Philip!" said Mr. Easthorpe, surprised. Philip, Mary! Dr. Manning you mean.

"No, no, papa," replied Mary, burying her face in her hands. "He will always be Philip to me." And then her father told her to hush, and so the two sat for a long time. What passed through Mr. Easthorpe's mind we cannot say, but when he bid his daughter good-night, he tenderly kissed her. We only know that as he went down to his office the next day, he called in at the Hospital, and told Philip that he should be glad to see him the first evening he had to spare, whereat our friend Philip became extremely red in the face, and then turned pale, and altogether looked extremely confused. Nevertheless, he did not fail to comply with Mr. Easthorpe's request, and before he left the house that night Mr. Easthorpe had consented to the engagement. We only further know that as Philip left Mr. Easthorpe's study, after the said important conversation, he met Mary Easthorpe, who was suddenly surprised to find herself caught round the waist and passionately caressed. Whereupon Mary made no particular protestation, that we can remember, but simply put her arms round Philip's neck, and hid her face from his. And herein the reader will perceive that there is a good deal of fudge and nonsense touching the ordinary declaration of love, and that the said declaration is oftentimes but a dream of the poets. In this case we know, upon the very best authority, that there was no formal declaration. Instances have been known, we suppose, in which some Deucalion has bent the knee to a relentless Pyrrha, but whoever adopts that course of proceeding, now-a-days, deserves very properly to be scorned. The stage is about the only receptacle of the old practice; young men and young women of the present day taking some such sensible course as Philip pursued. If that course cannot be adopted, then we have nothing whatever to say, but are quite content to allow Deucalion to go upon his knees as often as he pleases, as we hold the thought that young people should first of all love each other sufficiently to dispense with any such form or ceremony.

Mrs. Easthorpe had told her husband, too, of Katey Goring's unselfish conduct, and of Charley's love for her, when they were discussing Mary's frank confession about Philip, and Mr. Easthorpe watched Kate's graceful winning ways, until unconsciously he grew to like to have her in the house. For Kate Goring remained with Mary for some little time after his return, until indeed he took his wife and Mary for a trip through the wondrously beautiful lake scenery of the South Island. Katey returned to the Willows with a swelling heart, happy in the knowledge of Mrs. Easthorpe's affection. Mrs. Goring was surprised to find how wonderfully well Kate looked, and how contented she appeared to be. Upon remarking this to Dr. Goring, that gentleman replied "that he thought a little nursing did most girls good," and instanced the case of Flora Nightingale, which showed that the worthy doctor was as usual wide of the mark. He expressed, however, some little surprise at the number of letters Katey now received from Mary Easthorpe, and others, bearing the Edgecombe post mark, but ended by con-cluding, in his own mind, that things were going favorably for his daughter's happiness. Kate resumed her old habits, and accompanied her sister Nelly in many a long ride across country, or visited Mount Ida with her, or rode down to the Douglas's, at the Glen. She noticed, too, what a wonderfully good understanding appeared to exist between Mr. George Tempest and Nelly, and what an unconscionable time it took that young gentleman to help her sister into the saddle. First he had to see that the martingale was all right, then the two could' nt exactly agree as to the "now," and after Nelly was up in her seat, it appeared to take them a long time to find the stirrup. Not that we for a moment suppose that there was anything peculiar in this, for riding dresses are a nuisance, and really do sometimes have a strange habit of being remarkably in the way, and difficult to arrange.

There was nothing now to prevent our friend Philip from fencing in and stocking his Maori leasehold, and further arranging about obtaining some of the country lying immediately to the back of it. For this purpose he had got down one of his old shepherds, whom he had when he used to live at Apanui, and had sent him up to get the place into shape. But it is too late for us to trouble the reader with all that Philip did in this direction, as the stocking of a new run, and reclaiming such a piece of land from the wilds, is a short history in itself. We may have already grown wearisome in the recital of what has been done at Terua, which, as the reader knows, was partly improved when Beeton sold the place. Suffice it to say, that Philip having managed to get a brother practicioner to look after his practice and the hospital, for a week or two, in Hamilton, was up at Terua himself, seeing how matters were progressing. Let us return to that homestead for the last time, and see the two friends together.