Chapter XXXII.

Of course all Maoris can swim; and it never occurred to them that such a superior animal as a Pakea could be deficient in this very necessary accomplishment. The natives therefore occupied themselves first in righting the canoe, and dragging her to the bank; and then in picking up the bundles, some of which were floating down the stream with rapidity.

Hope Bernard, as soon as he found himself in the water, struck out towards the bank, forgetting for the moment that Jack could not swim. No sooner did the remembrance flash across his mind, however, than he turned to help Stanley, but could not see him anywhere. He gazed over the surface of the water with amazement and consternation, then shouted to Stephen.

Jack had, in being thrown from the canoe, struck his head violently against one of the paddles, which was then page 298 raised out of the water, and had—being stunned for the moment—gone to the bottom.

Bernard never forgot the feeling which came over him when he missed his friend. He knew he loved him, but he did not know how much. It is only when we have lost, or are in danger of losing, those we love, that we arrive at such knowledge. It would be a good and happy thing for us to try and realize it before we are brought to such extremities.

These thoughts flashed through Hope Bernard's mind in a moment—indeed, the whole thing took place in a few minutes, although it seemed to him a very long time before Jack's head rose to the surface of the water. No sooner did it do so than Bernard was down upon him like a shot. By the hair of the head he clutched him, and in another minute they were both upon the bank.

Jack felt very giddy and confused from the blow upon his head and the sudden immersion, and he sat silent and dazed for a time.

Then Stephen, the “piponari” man, came up to them where they were seated, and stood and said,

“Canoe all ready again now; but Pakea must not kill no more flies.”

Shortly afterwards they all got back into the canoe, drenched and uncomfortable as they were—at least, the Englishmen of the party—the clothing of the Maoris was of so slight a description that it could not retain much moisture. Jack and Bernard took off their flannel shirts, page break

Bernard saves Jack From Drowning.

page break page 299 and wrung the water out of them, and put them on again, hoping that in time they would feel dry: they could not, on board the little crazy canoe, unpack fresh clothes from their bundles. Jack Stanley had been longing for a good wash, but he had not anticipated being washed against his will.

For the rest of the afternoon both Jack and Bernard remained silent; for Jack felt as if he could not talk upon indifferent subjects, and Bernard had his own reasons for remaining still; so the silence was broken only by the chatter of the Maoris in their own language, varied by an occasional boat-song, as they pulled along the stream.

As evening came on they drew the canoe to the bank, and landed. Then they stretched Bernard's tent, and went through the usual routine of lighting the fire and preparing for the night.

It was a warm evening, yet Bernard sat cowering over the fire which had been lighted for cooking the supper; and when the supper was ready, he could not eat any of it.

“Hope, how you shiver!” said Jack, presently. “I am sure you must have taken cold sitting in your wet clothes. Let me make up your bed, and you shall have something hot to drink.”

“I feel sick,” said Bernard—“and no wonder, with such a stink near me as those fellows are enjoying. What is the horrible mess they are eating?”

Jack inquired of Stephen, and found that it was a delicious page 300 dish of putrid shark's flesh, which the Maoris were consuming.

“Anyhow, in the tent you will be rid of the smell also,” said Jack to Bernard. As he spoke, he took his friend's hand in his. Jack's heart was full of gratitude to Hope for having saved his life, but he could not speak of it. “Why,” said he, “your hand is burning, dear fellow! Do come in and lie down.”

Bernard made no further resistance, but allowed Stanley to make him up a bed of ferns, and to cover him with blankets. Then Jack went back to the fire, and in spite of the stench of the Maoris' supper, concocted a saucepanful of tea for his friend.

Next morning Bernard was still feverish and unwell, but he would not hear of resting for a time where he was. He seemed possessed with a restless impatience to get on. Jack had noticed that whenever they stopped at a settlement or passed any dwellings, Bernard employed Stephen as his interpreter, in order to ask questions. He felt sure that these inquiries were relative to his father, and wondered that Bernard could suppose for a moment that he should hear tidings in any places so remote as those through which they had hitherto passed.

Towards the afternoon of that day they arrived at the missionary station, and Jack Stanley felt grateful upon Bernard's account to stop. The latter had not spoken for a couple of hours, but lay at the bottom of the canoe with his head upon one of the packages, and his eyes page 301 closed. Jack found some difficulty in rousing him and making him understand that they were to remain for a time there.

“Better lift him up and carry,” said Stephen; and Jack and he together lifted Bernard from the boat. They had more help than enough, for the people of the settlement came running down to the bank as soon as ever the canoe was perceived. Amongst the crowd of natives was a grey-haired European, who proved to be the missionary, Mr. Grant. With the greatest kindness the missionary came forward as soon as he found there was any need for help, and assisted to conduct Bernard to his own house. It was a house only a little superior to those of the people about him, built, like the rest, of wood, but looking better and prettier, from the taste displayed in the pretty little garden in front, and the clematis and other native creepers which ran up the front and over the roof, even to hanging in festoons and trails from the chimneys.

A quiet gentle-looking lady came out to meet them, as the party, headed by her husband, approached the house, and very few minutes after they were withindoors. Bernard was laid upon a pleasant fresh bed in a quiet room, with Jack Stanley sitting beside him. Stanley had seen very little of illness, and was very much frightened at his friend's attack of fever, so much so, that it was evident to every one else.

“Do you think he will die, sir?” he asked of the missionary, when able to speak to him apart: “he seems page 302 quite light-headed, as you see. Do you think he will die?”

“He ought to have laid by some hours ago,” answered Mr. Grant. “Young men usually try to hold on too long. But I do not anticipate that he will die, my dear boy. Excuse me: I'm old enough to be your father, and more. I hope that rest and proper treatment will, by God's blessing, restore him before long. You must pray God to restore your friend,” continued the missionary, kindly laying his hand upon Jack's arm. “You know He can do all things. I must go now: it is time for evening service. What is your name? I have not had time before to ask it.”

“John Stanley.”

“Well, God bless you, John Stanley. I shall not forget you in our evening prayer.”

And the good old man moved away.

Even as he had been speaking, the summons to prayers sounded forth. They had no bell in that simple little village, so they imitated one by beating a piece of metal with a piece of wood, Shortly afterwards upon the quiet evening air there rose the sound of a hymn, the words, of course, in the Maori language, but the air one which we all know well at home.

There are times when we cannot put away from us serious thoughts. Sitting by the side of Bernard, who in Jack's eyes appeared on his death-bed—a death found in saving his own life—the air of that hymn, which he had page 303 not heard for years, recalled the words associated with it, which he had been taught when he was a child, and he could not help repeating them in his own mind.

“Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed;
Teach me to die, that so I may
With joy behold the Judgment Day.”

Depend upon it, however much we may put away from us the thoughts of God and of eternal things, that a time will come when they will return to us whether we will or no.

All day long there had been struggling in the heart of Jack Stanley the consciousness that he had very narrowly escaped death, and the question had been stirring for an answer, where would he have been had the waters closed over him for ever?

“Read to me, Jack,” said the voice of Bernard breaking through this reverie.

“Read! what?” asked Stanley.

“You will find my Bible in my travelling-bag,” said Bernard; and then he closed his eyes again as if the effort of speaking was too much.

Stanley found the Bible without trouble; but, as the day was closing in, he carried the book to the window in order to see better. He felt awakward and uncomfortable at having to read to another what he never cared to read for himself, as we all do under such circumstances, and he hesitated before opening the book: still, he did page 304 not like to vex Bernard with further questions, and, letting the book open where it would, he read a chapter in the Epistles of St. Paul.

When he came to the end of the chapter, he paused. Hope was breathing quietly, and Jack trusted he might be going to sleep; yet he would not move lest he should disturb him. He began examining the outside of the little book: it was shabby and worn, for it had been Bernard's companion for many years. Then Jack Stanley looked at the title-page. He could not, at first, believe that he read aright: for a moment everything seemed to swim before his eyes. On the title-page of the Bible was written, “Hope Bernard Maitland, from his loving aunt, Mary Bernard.”

Bernard must have forgotten this inscription when he had desired Jack Stanley to read to him out of this Bible.

Jack glanced quickly at the bed where Bernard was lying: he felt half guilty in having by accident discovered what Hope had concealed from him for all the time of their friendship and companionship. For a moment he felt confused and staggered, and fearful that Bernard should guess what he had learnt; but there was no fear of that. Bernard was lying quietly, with his eyes closed, as if the words which Jack had read had soothed him into rest.