CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
AN INVITATION.
It seemed to Don that the object of the captain in coming to New Zealandwas to select and survey portions of the coast for a new settlement; andfor the next few days well-armed boat parties were out in all directionssounding, and in two cases making short journeys inland.
"I say," said Jem one morning, as he and Don stood gazing over the sideof the ship at the verdant shores.
"Well, Jem, what do you say?"
"Has that ugly-looking chap Ramsden been telling tales about us?"
"I don't know; why?"
"Because here's a fortnight we've been at anchor, and since the firstday neither of us has been out in a boat."
"Hasn't been our turn, Jem."
"Well, p'r'aps not, sir; but it do seem strange. Just as if theythought we should slip away."
"And I suppose we've given up all such thoughts as that now."
"Oh, have we?" said Jem sarcastically; and then there was silence for atime, till Jem, who had been watching the steam rise from the littleisland about a quarter of a mile away, exclaimed, "Wonder what's beingcooked over yonder, Mas' Don. I know; no, I don't. Thought it waswashing day, but it can't be, for they don't hardly wear any clothes."
"It's volcanic steam, Jem. Comes out of the earth."
"Get along with you, Mas' Don. Don't get spinning yarns."
"I'm telling you the truth, Jem."
"Are you, sir? Well, p'r'aps it's what you think is the truth, I say,arn't it lovely out here? How I should like to have a cottage just onthat there point, and my Sally to keep it tidy. Hullo! What's up?"
The boatswain's shrill pipe was heard just then, and a boat's crew wassummoned to take an exploring party ashore.
To Don's great delight, he and Jem formed part of the boat's crew; andat last he felt that he was to see something of the beautiful place,which grew more attractive every time he scanned the coast.
This time the captain was going to land; and, as the men were providedwith axes, it seemed that they were about to make their way into thewoods.
The natives had been most friendly, bringing off and receiving presents;but, all the same, no precautions were omitted to provide for the safetyof the ship and crew.
It was a glorious morning, with hardly a breath of wind stirring, andthe savages were lolling about on the shore. Their canoes were run upon the sands, and there was an aspect of calm and repose everywhere thatseemed delightful.
But the boat's crew had little time given them for thinking. Thecaptain and a midshipman of about Don's age took their places in thestern sheets, Bosun Jones seized the tiller, the word was given, theoars splashed the water simultaneously, and the boat sped over the calmsurface of the transparent sea, sending the shoals of fish darting away.
The boat's head was set in quite a fresh direction, and she was runashore a little way from the mouth of a rushing river, whose waters camefoaming down through blocks of pumice and black masses of volcanicstone.
As the boat's head touched the shore, the men leaped over right andleft, and dragged her a short distance up the black glistening heavysand, so that the captain could land dry-shod.
Then preparations were made, arms charged, and Bosun Jones gave Don afriendly nod before turning to the captain.
"Will you have this lad, sir, to carry a spare gun for you?"
"Yes," said the captain; "a good plan;" and Don's eyes sparkled. "No,"said the captain the next moment; "he is only a boy, and the walkingwill be too hard for him. Let him and another stay with the boat."
Don's brow clouded over with disappointment, but it cleared a littledirectly after as he found that Jem was to be his companion; and as theparty marched off toward where the forest came down nearly to the sea,they, in obedience to their orders, thrust the boat off again, climbedin, and cast out her grapnel a few fathoms from the shore.
"I am disappointed," said Don, after they had sat in the boat some time,watching their companions till they had disappeared.
"Oh, I dunno, Mas' Don; we've got some beef and biscuit, and somewhereto sit down, and nothing to do. They, poor fellows, will come back hotand tired out."
"Yes; but's it's so dull here."
"Well, I dunno 'bout that," said Jem, looking lazily round at theglorious prospect of glistening sea, island and shore, backed up bymountains; "I call it just lovely."
"Oh, it's lovely enough, Jem; but I want to go ashore."
"Now if you call my cottage dull inside the yard gates at Bristol, I'mwith you, Mas' Don; but after all there's no place like home."
There was a dead silence, during which Don sat gazing at a group of thesavages half-a-mile away, as they landed from a long canoe, and ran itup the beach in front of one of the native _whares_ or dwellings.
"Why, Jem!" Don exclaimed suddenly, "why not now?"
"Eh?" said Jem, starting from watching a large bird dive down with asplash in the silvery water, and then rise again with a fish in itsbeak; "see that, Mas' Don?"
"Yes, yes," exclaimed Don impatiently; "why not now?"
"Why not now, Mas' Don?" said Jem, scratching his head; "is that whatyou call a connundydrum?"
"Don't be stupid, man. I say, why not now?"
"Yes, I heared you say so twice; but what does it mean?"
"We're quite alone; we have a boat and arms, with food and water. Whynot escape now?"
"Escape, Mas' Don? What, run away now at once--desert?"
"It is not running away, Jem; it is not deserting. They have robbed usof our liberty, and we should only be taking it back."
"Ah, they'd preach quite a different sarmon to that," said Jem, shakinghis head.
"Why, you are never going to turn tail?"
"Not I, Mas' Don, when the time comes; but it don't seem to have comeyet."
"Why, the opportunity is splendid, man."
"No, Mas' Don, I don't think so. If we take the boat, 'fore we've gonefar they'll ketch sight of us aboard, and send another one to fetch usback, or else make a cock-shy of us with the long gun."
"Then let's leave the boat."
"And go ashore, and meet our messmates and the captain."
"Go in another direction."
"Out of the frying-pan into the fire," said Jem, grinning. "Say, Mas'Don, how do they cook their food?"
"Don't talk nonsense, Jem; that's only a traveller's tale. I believethe people here will behave kindly to us."
"Till we got fat," said Jem, chuckling; "and then they'd have a tuckout. No, thank ye, Mas' Don; my Sally wouldn't like it. You see, I'mnice and plump and round now, and they'd soon use me. You're a greatlong growing boy, thin as a lath, and it'd take years to make you fit tokill, so as it don't matter for you."
"There is a chance open to us now for escape," said Don bitterly; "toget right away, and journey to some port, where we could get a passageto England as sailors, and you treat it with ridicule."
"Not I, Mas' Don, lad."
"You do, Jem. Such a chance may never occur again; and I shall never behappy till I have told my mother what is the real truth about our goingaway."
"But you did write it to her, Mas' Don."
"Write! What is writing to speaking? I thought you meant to stand byme."
"So I do, Mas' Don, when a good chance comes. It hasn't come yet."
"Ahoy!"
A hail came out of the dense growth some fifty yards away.
"There," said Jem, "you see we couldn't get off; some one coming back."
"Ahoy!" came again; "boat ahoy!"
"Ahoy! Ahoy!" shouted back Jem, and the two boat-keepers watched themoving ferns in front of them, expecting to see the straw hat of amessmate directly; but instead there appeared the black white-tippedfeathers, and then the hideously tattooed bluish face of a savage,followed directly after by another, and two stalwart men came out on tothe sands, and began to walk slowly down toward the boat.
"Cock your pistol, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, "quiet-like; don't l
et 'emsee. They've got their spears and choppers. Precious ready too withtheir _ahoys_."
"Why, it's that tattooed Englishman, Jem, and that savage who called mehis pakeha."
"And like his impudence!" said Jem. "You're right though, so it is."
"Morning, mate," said the Englishman, who, save that he was a littlelighter in colour than his hideous-looking companion, could hardly bedistinguished from him.
"Morning, my hearty," said Jem. "What is it? Want a passage home?"
"Do I want what?" growled the man. "Not I; too well off here."
"Wouldn't be safe to go back, p'r'aps," said Jem meaningly.
The man darted a fierce look at him, which told that the shaft had hitits mark.
"Never you mind about that," he said surlily.
"But you are a lifer, and have run away, haven't you?" continued Jem, ina bantering tone.
The man's aspect was for the moment so fierce that Don involuntarilystole his hand towards the pistol at his side. But his countenancesoftened directly after.
"That's neither here nor there, mate," said the man. "There's beenchaps sent out abroad who were innocent, and others who have beenpunished more than they deserved; and you aren't the sort of fellow togo talking like that, and making trouble for a fellow who never did youany harm."
"Not I," said Jem; "it's no business of mine."
"And he isn't the fellow to make trouble," put in Don.
"That he isn't," said the man, smiling. "'Sides I'm a Maori chief now,and I've got a couple of hundred stout fellows who would fight for me.Eh, Ngati?" he said, addressing some words in the savage tongue.
"Pah, ha, ha!" roared the great fellow beside him, brandishing hisspear; and seizing the greenstone paddle-like weapon, which hung fromhis neck, in his left hand, as he struck an attitude, turned up his eyestill the whites only were visible, distorted his face hideously, andthrust out his great tongue till it was far below his chin.
"Brayvo! Brayvo! Brayvo!" cried Jem, hammering the side of the boat;"brayvo, waxworks! I say, mate, will he always go off like that whenyou pull the string?"
"Yes," said the Englishman, laughing; "and two hundred more like him."
"Then it must be a werry pretty sight indeed; eh, Mas' Don?"
"Ah, it's all very well to laugh," said the Englishman good-humouredly;"but when they mean mischief, it's heads off and a feast."
"Eh?" cried Jem.
"They'll kill a man, and cook him and eat him after."
"Gammon!"
"Gammon, eh?" cried the Englishman; and he turned to his savagecompanion with a word or two.
The savage relapsed into his former quiescent state, uttered a loudgrunt, and smacked his lips.
"And so you do do that sort of thing?" said Jem, grinning. "You look inpretty good condition, mate."
"No!" said the Englishman fiercely. "I've joined them, and married, andI'm a pakeha Maori and a great chief, and I've often fought for them;but I've never forgotten what I am."
"No offence meant, old chap," said Jem; and then from behind his hand hewhispered to Don,--
"Look out, my lad; they mean the boat."
"No, we don't," said the Englishman, contemptuously; "if we did we couldhave it. Why, I've only to give the word, and a hundred fellows wouldbe out in a canoe before you knew where you were. No, my lad, it'speace; and I'm glad of a chance, though I'm happy enough here, to have atalk to some one from the old home. Never was in the west country, Isuppose? I'm an Exeter man."
"I've been in Exeter often," said Don eagerly; "we're from Bristol."
The Englishman waded rapidly into the sea, his Maori companion dashingin on the other side of the boat, and Jem and Don seized their pistols.
"Didn't I tell you it was peace?" said the Englishman, angrily. "I onlywanted to shake hands."
"Ho!" said Jem, suspiciously, as their visitor coolly seated himself onthe gunwale of the boat, his follower taking the opposite side, so as topreserve the balance.
"Enough to make you think we meant wrong," said the Englishman; "but wedon't. Got any tobacco, mate?"
"Yes," said Jem, producing his bag. "'Tarn't very good. Say, Mas' Don,if he came to see us in Bristol, we could give him a bit o' real oldCharlestown, spun or leaf."
"Could you, though?" said the man, filling his pipe.
"Yes; my uncle is a large sugar and tobacco merchant," said Don.
"Then how came you to be a sailor boy? I know, you young dog; you ranaway. Well, I did once."
"No, no," said Don, hastily; "we did not ran away; we were pressed."
"Pressed?" said the Englishman, pausing in the act of striking a lighton one of the thwarts of the boat.
"You needn't believe unless you like," said Jem, sourly, "but we were;dragged off just as if we were--well, never mind what. Feel here."
He bent forward, took the man's hand, and placed it upon the back of hishead.
"That's a pretty good scar, isn't it? Reg'lar ridge."
"Yes; that was an ugly crack, mate."
"Well, that's what I got, and a lot beside. Young Mas' Don here, too,was awfully knocked about."
"And you stood it?"
"Stood it?" said Don, laughing. "How could we help it?"
"Made you be sailors, eh, whether you would or no?"
"That's it," said Jem.
"Well, you can do as you like," said the man; "but I know what I shoulddo if they'd served me so."
"Cutoff?" said Jem.
"That's it, mate. I wouldn't ha' minded being a sailor, but not be madeone whether I liked or no."
"You weren't a sailor, were you?" said Don.
"I? No; never mind what I was."
"Then we had better cut off, Mas' Don," said Jem, grinning till his eyeswere shut; "and you and me 'll be painted like he is in fast colours,and you shall be a chief, and I'll be your head man."
"To be sure," said the Englishman; "and you shall have a wife."
"Eh?" cried Jem fiercely; "that I just won't. And, Mas' Don, if we everdo get back, don't you never say a word to my Sally about this here."
"No, Jem, not I."
"But you'll leave the ship, mate?"
"Well, I dunno," said Jem, thoughtfully. "Will that there pattern allover your face and chest wash off?"
"Wash off? No."
"Not with pearl-ash or soda?"
"No, not unless you skinned me," said the man, laughing.
"Well, that part arn't tempting, is it, Mas' Don?"
Don shook his head.
"And then about that other part, old chap--cannibalism? I say, that'sgammon, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you know--the cooking a fellow and eating him. How dull you are!"
"Dull? You be here a few years among these people, talking their lingo,and not seeing an Englishman above once in two years, and see if youwouldn't be dull."
"But is that true?"
"About being cannibals? Yes it's true enough," said the man seriously;"and very horrid it is; but it's only when there's war."
He had succeeded in striking a light now, and was smoking placidlyenough on the boat's edge, but dreamily thoughtful, as if he wererecalling matters that were past.
"Has he ever--been at war?" said Don, altering the fashion of hisinquiry when it was half uttered.
"Often."
"And--? You know," said Jem, who felt no delicacy about the matter.
The Englishman nodded his head slowly, and sent forth a tremendous puffof smoke, while his companion moved toward Don, and smiled at him,tapping him on the shoulder with his hand, and seeming to nod approval.
"Pakeha!" he said, excitedly; "my pakeha; Maori pakeha."
"What does he mean by that?" said Don, after he had suffered theseattentions patiently for a few minutes.
"Means he wants you to be his pakeha."
"Yes: my pakeha; Maori pakeha!" cried the chief eagerly.
"But what is a pakeha?"
"Why, you're
a pakeha, I'm a pakeha. They call foreigners pakehas; andhe wants to claim you as his."
"What, his slave?" cried Don.
"No, no; he means his foreign brother. If you become his pakeha, hewill be bound to fight for you. Eh, Ngati?"
The savage gave vent to a fierce shout, and went through his formerperformance, but with more flourish, as if he were slaying numbers ofenemies, and his facial distortion was hideous.
"Well, when I was a little un, and went to school," said Jem, "I used toget spanks if I put out my tongue. Seems as if it's a fine thing to doout here."
"Yes; it's a way they have when they're going to fight," said theEnglishman thoughtfully. "S'pose it would mean trouble if I were to setyou on to do it; but it wouldn't be at all bad for me if you were bothof you to leave the ship and come ashore."
"To be cooked?" said Jem.
"Bah! Stuff! They'd treat you well. Youngster here's all right; Ngatiwould make him his pakeha."
"My pakeha," cried the chief, patting Don again. "Much powder; muchgun."
"Pupil of mine," said the Englishman, smiling; "I taught him our lingo."
"What does he mean?" said Don; "that he'd give me a big gun and plentyof powder?"
The Englishman laughed.
"No, no; he wants you to bring plenty of guns and powder ashore with youwhen you come."
"When I come!" said Don, thoughtfully.
"I sha'n't persuade you, my lad; but you might do worse. You'd be allright with us; and there are Englishmen here and there beginning tosettle."
"And how often is there a post goes out for England?"
"Post? For England? Letters?"
"Yes."
"I don't know; I've been here a long time now, and I never had a letterand I never sent one away."
"Then how should I be able to send to my Sally."
"Dunno," said the man. "There, you think it over. Ngati here will beready to take care of you, youngster; and matey here shall soon have achief to take care of him."
"I don't know so much about that," said Jem. "I should be ready enoughto come ashore, but you've got some precious unpleasant ways out here aswouldn't suit me."
"You'd soon get used to them," said the Englishman, drily; "and afterleading a rough life, and being bullied by everybody, it isn't half badto be a chief, and have a big canoe of your own, and make people do asyou like."
"But then you're a great powerful man," said Don. "They'd obey you, butthey wouldn't obey me."
"Oh, yes, they would, if you went the right way to work. It isn't onlybeing big. They're big, much bigger all round than Englishmen, andstronger and more active. They're not afraid of your body, but of yourmind; that's what they can't understand. If I was to write downsomething on a bit of wood or a leaf--we don't often see paper here--andgive it to you to read, and you did the same to me, that gets over them:it's a wonder they can't understand. And lots of other things we knoware puzzles to them, and so they think us big. You consider it over abit, my lad; and if you decide to run for it, I'll see as you don't cometo no harm."
"And him too?"
"Oh, yes; he shall be all right too; I'll see to that."
"Shouldn't be too tempting for 'em, eh? Should I?" said Jem.
"Not for our tribes here," said the Englishman, laughing; "but I may aswell be plain with you. If we went to war with some of the others, andthey got hold of you--"
"Say, Mas' Don," said Jem interrupting the speaker, "I don't like beinga sort of white nigger aboard ship, and being kept a prisoner, and toldit's to serve the king; but a man can go into the galley to speak to thecook without feeling that he's wondering which jynte of you he shall usefirst. No thankye; it's a werry lovely country, but I want to get hometo my Sally some day; and if we cut and run here, I'm afraid I nevershould."
"You turn it over in your own minds, both of you, my lads. There, mypipe's out, and I think we'll go. Stop here long?"
"Do you mean the ship, or here with the boat?"
"Here with the boat," said the Englishman, holding out his hand.
"Till our party comes back," said Jem.
"I may see you again," said the Englishman; and shaking hands, he said afew words to his companion, and then began to wade ashore.
The savage smiled and shook hands in turn, after which he patted Don onthe shoulder again.
"My pakeha," he said, sharply; "Maori pakeha--my."
He followed his leader; and Don and Jem watched them till theydisappeared amongst the abundant growth.