Chapter XXI.

Next morning was bright and clear, and Colonel Bradshaw and his friends, with a large party of the natives, prepared for a pig-hunt. Jack Stanley laughed at the idea of a pig-hunt: his-only idea of pigs was having seen them in his childhood, grunting in styes, or on occasions making irruptions into places where they had no business; there was also a legend of himself in his childhood having tried to ride a pig, but of having been very summarily kicked off into the dirt. Before the hunt, however, it was necessary to have a talk. There is nothing in the world the Maoris are so fond of as speechifying. Formerly, in the times of their wars, they would invariably hold a council previous to an attack; and now that the spirit of peace, as we trust, has taken the place of war, they still take every occasion of holding forth. They are really very eloquent, and under exciting circumstances, or under deep feelings, they rise to poetry. But this talking party was principally page 197 about the pig-hunt which was coming off, and was more businesslike than poetical. All the muskets in the pah were collected together, and spears were carried by the natives, the dogs also were called together; but these animals were very little under control, and Colonel Bradshaw seemed to think that they would be more in the way than anything else. At length they started, Europeans, Maoris, dogs and all. Then began for Bernard and Stanley their first real experience of the New Zealand bush. It was of no use getting impatient or out of temper: in that respect the Maoris set them a first-rate example—they were always ready with a laugh, whenever they were looked at, and were constantly joking together. Several times one of the party was suddenly thrown down, either by coming in contact with some stubborn underwood or by tripping over a fallen tree, or again they would be stopped short, caught by a supplejack, which would insist upon their staying, and take no refusal. Still, everything was so wildly beautiful that it was difficult to quarrel with it: on all sides grew most luxuriantly flowering plants and creepers of every description, masses of wild fuchsias, and clouds of sweet-scented white clematis made the Englishmen think of home; but the next moment thoughts of England were sent flying by the un-English growth of the trees and gigantic ferns.

After many and various escapes from being taken prisoner, or of losing his gun in the embraces of the supplejack, and many overthrows and stumbles from the page 198 roughness of the way, Jack Stanley and his friends found themselves emerge upon a smooth beautiful carpet of moss: it was green as emerald and soft as velvet. And Jack, in his delight at the sudden transition from warfare to repose, attempted to run gleefully over the greensward, when, in a second, down he went sprawling at full length, amidst shouts of laughter from his companions.

In the middle of their laughter they were arrested by the barking of the dogs, and, forgetting all their bruises and twists of the limbs, they hurried in the direction of the noise. Already the Maoris were shouting, and flinging their spears into the thicket near by; and shortly afterwards there was a tremendous burst, and a drove of wild pigs rushed pell-mell from their covert. The dogs and men gave chase—at first after the whole pack; but one after the other the pigs bolted—some in one direction, some in another—until the chase consisted of one enormous boar. Even back view he looked a very formidable animal, with his long gaunt legs and his indignant bristles —with the foam dripping from his tusks as he ran.

“Take care! take care!” shouted Colonel Bradshaw, as he saw Jack Stanley, with the recklessness of youth, rush ahead of the Maoris, close up with the dogs in pursuit of the pig; but he might as well have shouted to the pig itself. Jack Stanley heard nothing. Screaming with laughter, he kept on his way, flying over the fallen trees, forcing a passage through the boughs, not even knowing that he scratched his hands and face, and never page break

The Pig-hunt

page break page 199 feeling the slaps and blows which he had complained of before. The moss might have been as slippery as ice, but he kept his footing from excitement. Even the Maoris looked at him in astonishment, laughing and saying, “How fast the Pakea runs!” All at once the wild pig came to a full stop, turned, and faced the dogs. All his fangs were showing, and he did not look by any means pleasant; but it was too late for Jack to pull up. The dogs fell back upon him, and the boar was upon the dogs almost at the same moment. It was a fortunate thing that the dogs did fall back, for they were the first objects that the pig saw. With a savage grunt, he rushed upon the foremost, and ripped up his side, while at the same instant Colonel Bradshaw came up, and, firing his musket, shot the pig in the shoulder. The pig, finding himself wounded, bounded clean over the body of Jack Stanley, who had not regained his feet since falling pellmell amongst the dogs, and a few seconds afterwards the boar lay dead, killed by another shot and several of the native spears.

“I tell you what, young man,” said Colonel Bradshaw of Jack, as they stood contemplating their dead game, “you must be a little more careful in your hunting ventures. You are much too reckless of danger.”

“It was grand fun, sir,” said Jack.

“It would have been small fun for the rest of us to save carried you home with a hole in your side like that poor dog there,” answered the Colonel.

Jack had the pleasure that evening of seeing the whole scene enacted in caricature by the Maoris who had witnessed it for the amusement of those who had not. Some of the men took the part of the dogs, another of the boar, going upon all fours, while he himself—the part being taken by the son of the chief—cut a very laughable figure sprawling in the midst of the suppositious dogs after a wild and most eccentric run through the length of the pah. That evening there was a dance in the village, a performance which very much amused the strangers in their turn. The dance was merely a peaceable one for their own pleasure, until, at the entreaty of the Pakeas, they turned it into a war-dance, such as formerly they used to perform before a battle. They previously explained that they had left off all this sort of thing now, and only did it to entertain their guests. The men first stripped themselves naked, and ornamented their heads with birds' feathers; then the dance commenced. It was originally intended as something solemn and inflaming to the anger and revenge of the warriors—by no means to arouse the laughter of the beholders; but when these men began leaping about, flinging their limbs into the most grotesque attitudes, their eyes thrown up so as to show nothing but the whites, their tongues stuck forward from their mouths, making every hideous face they could in turn devise, Jack Stanley, who was one of those who had not the least control over his risible muscles, and always laughed at the wrong times, had the greatest page 201 difficulty in preventing himself from exploding aloud. He did not dare catch the eye of Colonel Bradshaw or Hope Bernard, who both sat looking supernaturally grave, and towards the conclusion, as the dance became faster and more furious, he did not dare to look at the performers.

“The young Pakea does not like it,” observed the chief, when it was at an end, and he had inserted himself once more in his mat.

“On the contrary, I think it is very fine,” said Jack, hardly able to speak under the remembrance of it. “I am sure I could not dance so finely as that.”

The chief laughed and nodded; then, stripping himself once more as far as the waist, he joined some others who were arranged in a circle on the ground, and prepared for the haka, or song. Considering the horrible faces that had been made during the dance, one might have supposed that they were pretty well tired of distorting their features; but it was nothing of the sort apparently, for they outdid themselves in this fresh effort. They squinted, they twisted their mouths, they screwed up the whole face, they protruded their tongues, as an accompaniment to the song, not one word of which the guests could understand, but which they had to take for granted was very amusing. With the violent exercise of the day, coupled with his repeated falls in the bush, combined with this very exciting evening to wind up with, Jack Stanley was so tired that not even the combined action page 202 of the fleas, the mosquitoes, or the flies, could succeed in keeping him awake.

But before they left the settlement, Jack became more used to such excitement as he had gone through that day. As the Maori teacher had told them, the neighbourhood was overrun by pigs; and pigs, however useful they may be in a domestic point of view, might, we can well imagine, become a dreadful nuisance when in large numbers.

Pig-hunts became the daily occupation whilst the Englishmen remained at the pah, and many and various were the eccentric incidents of these chases; for there is nothing grand or sublime or sentimental about a pig, and the character of the chase was gathered from the quarry. Still, for all that, they were very enjoyable, and not the less so, that there was a good amount of risk and danger mixed up with the amusement.

As it was really essential to the comfort of the settlement that a number of pigs should be destroyed, the hunting party made it their business as well as their amusement, and they usually proceeded with greater caution than they had the first day of Jack's wild spirits and reckless exposure of himself. The hunters would come cautiously and gradually upon a herd of pigs feeding in some open space in the forest, and would sometimes succeed in killing eight or nine animals in one day. The Maoris were delighted at carrying off such a stock of provision, and would march home with page 203 the carcases upon their shoulders, each pig in turn wearing upon its countenance a more pathetic and sorrowful expression than the last; while the rest of the party followed more slowly, in the hope of meeting with some objects of interest.