CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.
DON SPEAKS OUT.
A healthy young constitution helped Don Lavington through his perilousillness, and in another fortnight he was about the farm, helping in anylittle way he could.
"I'm very sorry, Mr Gordon," said Don one evening to the young settler.
"Sorry? What for, my lad?" he said.
"For bringing those convicts after us to your place, and for being illand giving you so much trouble."
"Nonsense, my lad! I did begin to grumble once when I thought you weregoing to be ungrateful to me for taking you in."
"Ungrateful!"
"Yes, ungrateful, and trying to die."
"Oh!" said Don smiling.
"Nice mess I should have been in if you had. No church, no clergyman,no doctor, no sexton. Why, you young dog, it would have been cruel."
Don smiled sadly.
"I am really very grateful, sir; I am indeed, and I think by to-morrowor next day I shall be strong enough to go."
"What, and leave me in the lurch just as I'm so busy! Why, with thethought of having you fellows here, I've been fencing in pieces andmaking no end of improvements. That big Maori can cut down as much woodas two men, and as for Jem Wimble, he's the handiest fellow I ever saw."
"I am very glad they have been of use, sir. I wish I could be."
"You're right enough, boy. Stop six months--a year altogether--and Ishall be very glad of your help."
This set Don at rest, and he brightened up wonderfully, making greatstrides during the next fortnight, and feeling almost himself, till, oneevening as he was returning from where he had been helping Jem and Ngaticut up wood for fencing, he fancied he saw some animal creeping throughthe ferns. A minute's watching convinced him that this was a fact, buthe could not make out what it was. Soon after, as they were seated attheir evening meal, he mentioned what he had seen.
"One of the sheep got loose," said Gordon.
"No, it was not a sheep."
"Well, what could it have been? There are no animals here, hardly,except the pigs which have run wild."
"It looked as big as a sheep, but it was not a pig," said Donthoughtfully. "Could it have been a man going on all fours?"
"Hullo! What's the matter?" cried Gordon looking up sharply, as one ofhis two neighbours came to the door with his wife.
"Well, I doan't know," said the settler. "My wife says she is sure shesaw a savage creeping along through the bush behind our place."
"There!" said Don excitedly.
"Here's t'others coming," said Jem.
For at that moment the other settler, whose log-house was a hundredyards below, came up at a trot, gun in hand, in company with his wifeand sister.
"Here, look sharp, Gordon," he said; "there's a party out on a raid. Wecame up here, for we had better join hands."
"Of course," said Gordon. "Come in; but I think you are frighteningyourselves at shadows, and--"
He stopped short, for Jem Wimble dashed at the door and banged it tojust as Ngati sprang to the corner of the big log kitchen and caught upa spear.
"Mike and them two beauties, Mas' Don!" cried Jem.
"Then it's war, is it?" said Gordon grimly, as he reconnoitred from thewindow. "Eight--ten--twelve--about thirty Maori savages, and threewhite ones. Hand round the guns, Don Lavington. You can shoot, can'tyou?"
"Yes, a little."
"That's right. Can we depend on Ngati? If we can't, he'd better go."
"I'll answer for him," said Don.
"All right!" said Gordon. "Look here, Ngati,"--he pointed out of thewindow and then tapped the spear--"bad pakehas, bad--bad, kill."
Ngati grunted, and his eyes flashed.
"Kill pakehas--bad pakehas," he said in a deep, fierce voice. "Kill!"Then tapping the Englishmen one by one on the shoulder, "Pakeha good,"he said smiling, and then taking Don by the arm, "My pakeha," he added.
"That's all right, sir," said Jem; "he understands."
"Now then, quick! Make everything fast. We can keep them out so longas they don't try fire. And look here, I hate bloodshed, neighbours,but those convict scoundrels have raised these poor savages up againstus for the sake of plunder. Recollect, we are fighting for our homes--to defend the women."
A low, angry murmur arose as the guns were quickly examined, ammunitionplaced ready, and the rough, strong door barricaded with boxes and tubs,the women being sent up a rough ladder through a trap-door to huddletogether in the roof, where they would be in safety.
"So long as they don't set us afire, Mas' Don," whispered Jem.
"What's that?" said Gordon sharply.
"Jem fears fire," said Don.
"So do I, my lad, so we must keep them at a distance; and if they dofire us run all together to the next house, and defend that."
Fortunately for the defenders of the place there were but three windows,and they were small, and made good loop-holes from which to fire whenthe enemy came on. The settlers defended the front of the house, andDon, Jem and Ngati were sent to the back, greatly to Jem'sdisappointment.
"We sha'n't see any of the fun, Mas' Don," he whispered, and thenremained silent, for a shout arose, and they recognised the voice asthat of Mike Bannock.
"Now then you," he shouted, "open the door, and give in quietly. If youdo, you sha'n't be hurt. If you make a fight of it, no one will be leftalive."
"Look here!" shouted back Gordon; "I warn you all that the first man whocomes a step farther may lose his life. Go on about your businessbefore help comes and you are caught."
"No help for a hundred miles, matey," said the savage-looking convict;"so give in. We want all you've got there, and what's more, we mean tohave it. Will you surrender?"
For answer Gordon thrust out his gun-barrel, and the convicts drew backa few yards, and conversed together before disappearing with theirsavage followers into the bush.
"Have we scared them off?" said Gordon to one of the settlers, after tenminutes had passed without a sign.
"I don't know," said the other. "I can't help thinking--"
"Look out, Mas' Don!"
_Bang_! _bang_!
Two reports from muskets at the back of the house, where the attackingparty had suddenly shown themselves, thinking it the weakest part; andafter the two shots about a dozen Maoris dashed at the little window,and tried to get in, forcing their spears through to keep the defendersat a distance; and had not Ngati's spear played its part, dartingswiftly about like the sting of some monster, the lithe, active fellowswould, soon have forced their way in.
Directly after, the fight began at the front, the firing growing hot,and not without effect, for one of the settlers went down with a musketbullet in his shoulder, and soon after Gordon stood back, holding hisarm for Don to bind it up with a strip off a towel.
"Only a spear prick," he said coolly, as he took aim with his gundirectly after; and for about an hour the fight raged fiercely, withwounds given and taken, but no material advantage on either side.
"Be careful and make every shot tell," said Gordon, as it was rapidlygrowing dark; then backing to the inner door as he reloaded, he spokefor a few seconds to Don.
"We shall beat them off, sir," said Don cheerily.
"Yes, I hope so, my lad," said the settler calmly. "You see you are ofgreat use."
"No, sir; it's all my fault," replied Don.
"Mas' Don," whispered Jem, as Don returned, "look out of the window;mind the spears; then tell me what you see."
"Fire!" said Don after a momentary examination.
He was quite right. A fire had been lit in the forest at the back, andten minutes after, as Mike Bannock's voice could be heard cheering them,the Maoris came on, hurling burning branches on to the roof of thelittle log-house.
For a few minutes there was no result. Then there arose a yell, for theroof had caught, the resinous pine burned strongly, the smoke began tocurl in between the rafters, and the women were helped down.
To exting
uish the flames was impossible, and would even have been asvain a task had they been outside ready with water.
"How long will she last before she comes down?" said one of thesettlers.
"We can stop in here for a quarter, perhaps half an hour longer," saidGordon; "and then we must make a dash for your place."
"Yes," said the settler, "and they know it. Look!"
By the increasing light from the burning house, the savages could beseen with their white leaders preparing for a rush.
Just then Don and his two companions were forced to leave the littlelean-to, whose roof was burning furiously, and it was only by closingthe rough door of communication that the besieged were able to remain inthe big kitchen.
"It won't last five minutes, my lads," said Gordon. "Be ready, women.I'll throw open the door. We men will rush out and form up. You womenrun down to the right and make for Smith's. We shall give them a volleyto check them, and run after you."
"Ready?"
"Ay."
"All loaded?"
"Ay," came in a deep despairing growl.
"Down with these boxes and tubs then. You, Don, you are young and weak;go with the women."
"No," said Don; "I shall go with you men."
"Brayvo, Mas' Don!" whispered Jem. "What a while they are opening thatdoor! We shall be roasted, my lad, after all, and these wretches 'llpick our bones."
The door was flung open, and the enemy uttered a yell of delight as thelittle party of whites ran out of the burning house.
"Now, women!" cried Gordon.
"No: stop!" roared Don.
_Crash_!
A heavy volley from the right, and the besiegers made a rush for theleft.
_Crash_!
A heavy volley met them on the left, fired diagonally from half behindthe blazing house.
Then there was a cheer, echoed by a second, and two parties ofblue-jackets were in among the Maoris, who fled, leaving half theirnumber wounded and prisoners on the ground, while Don and his friendshelped the women out into the open, away from the signs of bloodshed,which looked horrible in the light from the blazing house.
"A little too late," said the officer in command of the detachment.
"Too late to save my house, sir, but in time to save our lives," saidGordon, grasping his hand.
"I wish I had been sooner; but it's rough work travelling through thebush, and we should not have come, only we heard the shouting, and sawthe glow of your burning house."
No time was lost in trying to extinguish the fire after a guard had beenset over the prisoners, the men under the officers' orders working hardwith the few buckets at command; but the place was built of inflammablepine, which flared up fiercely, and after about a quarter of an hour'seffort Gordon protested against further toil.
"It's of no use, sir," he said. "All labour in vain. I've not lostmuch, for my furniture was only home made."
"I'm sorry to give up, but it is useless," said the officer.
Jem crept close up to his companion.
"I say, Mas' Don, I thought it was some of our chaps from the sloop atfirst, but they're from the _Vixen_ frigate. Think they'll find usout?"
"I hope not, Jem," replied Don; "surely they will not press us again."
"Let's be off into the bush till they're gone."
"No," said Don; "I'm sorry I left the ship as I did. We will not runaway again."
Meanwhile preparations were made for bivouacking, the officerdetermining to rest where they were that night; and after seeing his menstored in two of the barns, and sentries placed over the prisoners inanother, at one of the settlers' places, one log-house being given up tothe wounded, he joined the little English gathering, where the settlers'wives, as soon as the danger was past, had prepared a comfortable meal.
After an uneventful night, the morning broke cheerily over the tinysettlement, where the only trace of the attack was at Gordon's, whoserough log-house was now a heap of smoking ashes.
The sailors had breakfasted well, thanks to the settlers' wives, andwere now drawn up, all but the prisoners' guard, while the officer stoodtalking to Gordon and his neighbours with Don and Jem standing close by;for in spite of Jem's reiterated appeals, his companion refused to taketo the bush.
"No, Jem," Don said stubbornly; "it would be cowardly, and we're cowardsenough."
"But s'pose they find us out? That there officer's sure to smell aswe're salts."
"Smell? Nonsense!"
"He will, Mas' Don. I'm that soaked with Stockholm tar that I can smellmyself like a tub."
"Nonsense!"
"But if they find out as we deserted, they'll hang us."
"I don't believe it, Jem."
"Well, you'll see, Mas' Don; so if they hang you, don't you blame me."
"Well, Mr Gordon, we must be off," said the officer. "Thank you oncemore for all your hospitality."
"God bless you, sir, and all your men, for saving our lives," said thesettler warmly; and there was a chorus of thanks from the other settlersand their wives.
"Nonsense, my dear sir; only our duty!" said the officer heartily. "Andnow about our prisoners. I don't know what to do about the Maoris. Idon't want to shoot them, and I certainly don't want to march them withus down to where the ship lies. What would you do, Mr Gordon?"
"I should give them a knife apiece, shake hands with them, and let themgo."
"What, to come back with the said knives, and kill you all when we'regone!"
"They will not come back if you take away the scoundrels who led themon," said Don sharply.
"How do you know?" said the officer good-humouredly.
"Because," said Don, colouring, "I have been living a good deal withthem, both with a friendly tribe and as a prisoner."
"And they did not eat you?" said the officer laughing.
"There, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, "hear that?"
"I think you are right, youngster," continued the officer, "and I shalldo so. Mr Dillon, bring up the prisoners."
This was to a master's mate, who led off a guard, and returned with thecaptives bound hands behind, and the Maoris looking sullen and haughty,while the three whites appeared at their very worst--a trio of the mostvile, unkempt scoundrels possible to see.
They were led to the front, scowling at every one in turn, and halted infront of the officer, who, after whispering to the master's mate, gaveorders to one of the seamen. This man pulled out his great jack knife,opened it, and being a bit of a joker, advanced toward the Maoris,grinding his teeth and rolling his eyes.
The savages saw his every act, and there was a slight tremor that seemedto run through them all; but the next instant they had drawn themselvesup stern and defiant, ready to meet their fate at the seaman's knife.
"No, no. No, pakeha. No kill," said a deep angry voice; and as everyone turned, Ngati stalked forward as if to defend his enemies.
But at the same moment the man had cut the first Maori's bands, and thenwent on behind the rank, cutting the line that bound seven, who stoodstaring wildly.
The next minute a seaman came along bearing a sheaf of spears, which hehanded, one by one, to the astonished savages, while their wonderreached its height, as the master's mate presented to each a knife, suchas were brought for presents to the natives.
"Now," said the officer, addressing them, "I don't understand you, and Idon't suppose you understand my words; but you do my deeds. Then, inthe king's name, you are free; and if you ever take any Englishprisoners, I hope you will behave as well to them as we have behaved toyou. There, go."
He finished by pointing away to the north; but instead of going theystood staring till Ngati came forward, and said a few words in their owntongue.
The effect was electric; they all shouted, brandished their spears,danced wildly, and ended by throwing down their weapons before theofficer, seizing him by the arms, and rubbing noses with him.
He submitted laughingly till the Maoris picked up their spears, andstood looking on, ap
parently quite satisfied that they were safe.
"Here, hi, Jack!" cried a hoarse brutal voice. "Look sharp, we want toget rid of these cords; where's your knife?"
"Wait a little while, my friends," said the officer sarcastically; "assoon as we get to the ship, you shall have them changed for irons."
"Whorrt!" cried Mike.
"We were out in search of three convicts who murdered a couple of theguard, and escaped from Norfolk Island in a boat. I have fallen uponyou by accident, and I have you safe."
"Norfolk Island! Where's Norfolk Island, mate?" said Mike coolly.
"Never heard o' no such place," said his vilest-looking companion,gruffly.
"Memory's short, perhaps," said the officer.
"But convicts; we're not convicts," growled Mike.
"Gentlemen, p'r'aps, on your travels?"
"Yes, that's it," said Mike with effrontery.
"Ah! Well then, I shall have to take you on beard His Majesty's ship_Vixen_, where you will probably be hung at the yard-arm for incitingthe ignorant Maoris to attack peaceful settlers. Forward, my lads!"
"Here stop!" roared Mike with a savage grin.
"What for?" said the officer sternly.
"Arn't you going to take them, too?"
"Take whom--the Maoris? No; but for you they would have let thesepeople be in peace. Forward!"
"No, no; I mean them two," said Mike savagely, as he pointed--"them two:Don Lavington and Jem Wimble."
"Halt!" cried the officer. "Do you know these men?" he saidsuspiciously.
"There, I told you so, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "I know that man,"said Don firmly. "I only know the others by their making us prisonersout in the bush."
"Where did you know him?" said the officer--"Norfolk Island?"
"No, sir; at Bristol. He worked as labourer in my uncle's yard."
"That's right enough," said Mike; "and him and Jem Wimble was pressed,and went to sea."
"Ay, ay!" said the officer quickly.
"And they deserted, and took to the bush."
"Hah!" ejaculated the officer. "From the sloop of war. The captainasked us to keep an eye open for two lads who had deserted."
"Hor--hor--hor!" laughed Mike maliciously; "and now you've got 'em; MrGentleman Don and Master Jemmy Wimble."
"If your hands warn't tied," cried Jem fiercely, "I'd punch your uglyhead!"
"Is this true, young man?" said the officer sternly. "Did you desertfrom His Majesty's sloop?"
Don was silent for a moment, and then stepped forward boldly.
"Yes!" he said.
"Ah, Mas' Don, you've done it now," whispered Jem.
"I was cruelly seized, beaten, and dragged away from my home, and Jemhere from his young wife. On board ship we were ill-used andpersecuted; and I'm not ashamed to own it, I did leave the ship."
"Yes, and so did I!" said Jem stoutly.
"Humph! Then I'm afraid you will have to go with me as prisoners!" saidthe officer.
"Hor--hor--hor! Here's a game! Prisoners! Cat-o'-nine tails, orhanging."
"Silence, you scoundrel!" roared the officer. "Forward with theseprisoners."
Mike and his companions were marched on out of hearing, and then, aftera turn or two, the officer spoke.
"It is true then, my lads, you deserted your ship?"
"I was forced to serve, sir, and I left the ship," said Don firmly.
"Well, sir, I have but one course to pursue."
"Surely you will not take them as prisoners, sir?" cried Gordonwarmly--"as brave, true fellows as ever stepped."
"I can believe that," said the officer; "but discipline must bemaintained. Look here, my lads: I will serve you if I can. You made agreat mistake in deserting. I detest pressing men; but it is done, andit is not my duty to oppose the proceeding. Now, will you take myadvice?"
"What is it, sir?"
"Throw yourself on our captain's mercy. Your ship has sailed for China;we are going home short-handed. Volunteer to serve the king till theship is paid off, and perhaps you will never hear of having deserted.What do you say?"
"The same as Jem Wimble does, sir. I can volunteer, and fight, if youlike; but I can't bear to be forced."
"Well said!" cried the officer, smiling at Don's bit of grandiloquence;and, an hour later, after an affectionate parting from Ngati, whoelected to stay with Gordon, Don and Jem were Jacks once more, marchingcheerily with the main body, half a mile behind the guard in charge ofthe convicts.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.
HOME.
It was a non-adventurous voyage home, after the convicts had been placedin the hands of the authorities at Port Jackson; and one soft summerevening, after a run by coach from Plymouth, two sturdy-looking brownyoung sailors leaped down in front of the old coaching hotel, and almostran along the busy Bristol streets to reach the familiar spots where somuch of their lives had been passed.
Don was panting to get back into his mother's arms, but they had to passthe warehouse, and as they reached the gates Jem began to tremble.
"No, no; don't go by, Mas' Don. I dursen't go alone."
"What, not to meet your own wife?"
"No, Mas' Don; 'tarn't that. I'm feared she's gone no one knows where.Stand by me while I ask, Mas' Don."
"No, no, Jem. I must get home."
"We've stood by one another, Mas' Don, in many a fight and at sea, andon shore. Don't forsake your mate now."
"I'll stay, Jem," said Don.
"Mas' Don, you are a good one!" cried Jem. "Would you mind pulling thebell--werry gently? My hand shakes so, I shall make a noise."
Don gave the bell a tremendous peal, when Jem looked at himreproachfully, and seemed ready to run away, as the lesser gate wassnatched angrily open, and a shrill voice began,--
"What d'you mean by ringing like--"
"Sally!"
"Jem!"
Don gave Jem a push in the back, which sent him forward into the yard,pulled the gate to, and ran on as hard as he could to his uncle's house.He had laughed at Jem when he said his hand trembled, but his own shookas he took hold of the knocker, and gave the most comical double rapever thumped upon a big front door.
There was a click; the door was thrown open by one who had seen thebrown young sailor pass the window, and Don Lavington was tightly heldin his mother's arms, while two little hands held his, and Kitty jumpedup to get a kiss placed upon his cheek.
The explanations were in full swing as, unheard by those in the parlour,the front door was opened by a latch-key, and that of the parlourfollowed suit, for Uncle Josiah to stand looking smilingly at the groupbefore him.
When at last he was seen, Don started up and gazed dubiously in thegrave, stern face before him, recalling in those brief moments sceneafter scene in the past, when he and his uncle had been, as Jemexpressed it, "at loggerheads again," and his life had seemed to him atime of misery and care. His first coherent thoughts were as to what heshould say--how he should enter into full explanations of his movementssince that eventful night when he encountered the press-gang. It wasbetter to attack, he thought, than to await the coming on of hisadversary, and he had just made up his mind to the former course ofaction, when all his plans and words were blown to the wind, and therewas no need for either attack or defence, for the old man advanced withextended hand.
"Don, my lad," he said quietly, "I've felt the want of you badly at theoffice. Glad to see you back."
"I ought to tell you, sir--"
"Ah, well explain all by-and-by, my boy," said the old man. "I knowthat you can't have been to blame; and, look here, time back you were asstubborn as could be, and thought you were ill-used, and that I was yourenemy. You've been round the world since then, and you are bigger, andbroader, and wiser now than you were."
"I hope so, uncle."
"And you don't believe that I ever was your enemy?"
"I believe, uncle, that I was very foolish, and--and--"
"That's enough. P'r'aps I was a bi
t too hard, but not so hard as theyare at sea. You haven't got to go again?"
"No, uncle."
"Then God bless you, my boy! I'm glad to have you back."
Don could not speak, only hold his weeping mother to his breast.
It was some time before Don was able to begin his explanations, and theaccount of what had passed; and when he did it was with his mothersitting on his right, holding his hand in both of hers, and with hiscousin seated upon his left, following her aunt's suit, while the oldBristol merchant lay back in his chair smoking his evening pipe, a grimsmile upon his lips, but a look of pride in his eyes as if he did not atall disapprove of Don's conduct when he was at sea.
"But I ought not to have deserted uncle?" said Don, interrogatively.
"Well, my boy," said the old merchant thoughtfully, taking his pipe outof his mouth, and rubbing his stubbly cheek with the waxy end, "I hardlyknow what to say about that, so we'll let it rest."
"Confound all press-gangs!" said Uncle Josiah that night, as they wereparting for bed. "But I don't know, Don, perhaps this one was ablessing in disguise."
"Then I hope, uncle, that the next blessing will come without anydisguise at all. But, mother, you found my bundle?"
"Your bundle, my dear?"
"The one I threw up on the top of the bed-tester, when I was foolishenough to think of running away."
"My dear Don, no."
They went to the chamber; Don leaped on the edge of the bed, reachedover, and brought down the bundle all covered with flue.
"Don, my darling!"
"But I had repented, mother, and--"
"Hush! No more," said Uncle Josiah firmly; "the past is gone. Here'sto a happy future, my boy. Good-night."
THE END.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends