CHAPTER III
THE PRICE OF SUCCESS
It was a lovely evening; lovely as evening can be in the isle-strewn, iridescent seas beneath the Southern Cross. The sun, setting behind the ship which came sailing out of the radiant west, threw his magic mantle over the rolling clouds which lay in inky masses where the ocean touched them in the distant east, filling their hollows with crimson, fringing their pinnacles and battlements with ruddy gold. Fronting the dreamy horizon, Wari-Kauri, Rangi-Haute, and Rangatira[1] slumbered peacefully in the rosy light, while great Te Wenga's gloomy bosom caught and kept the fire-tipped shafts. Northwards, the uprising cones of basalt reflected the flames in the sky. Southwards, green-black forest and fern-grown gully blazed for a moment ere they paled away in the dusk. Ahead, the surges, fearful of the night, curled and broke with ceaseless thunder upon the reefs, flinging high their snowy crests to snatch yet one more glory from the day, and falling back, a shower of jewels of ineffable hues. Astern, as if to guide the gliding ship, long paths of crimson light streamed from the sinking sun, and shot aslant in wavering lines from sky to sea, from sea to shore. And as the Stella slipped to her moorings, the rattle of the chain, the splash of the falling anchor, broke in upon the sweet peace; day, affrighted, fled with the sun, and night, fearing no terrors, brooded upon sea and land.
As the Stella neared the shore, a boat, manned by Maori prisoners, put off to give what help might be required. In the stern sat a man who instantly attracted George's attention, and, curiously enough, the young Englishman seemed at the same moment to become the object of profound interest on the part of the Maori, who stared at him as if fascinated.
George had seen many Maoris and admired them; but this one attracted him strangely, and, certainly, no one looking at the man would have taken him for a convict. His face was handsome, notwithstanding the intricate designs carved upon it from brow to chin; his eyes bright, and so restless that they conveyed the impression of incessantly shooting points of light. His figure was strong, though not massive, and much more symmetrical than is usual among his countrymen, who are generally short legged and long-bodied.
Altogether he was a remarkable man, and he moved among his companions with a stateliness and an air of condescension which, but for his impressive appearance, would have seemed ludicrously incongruous. As his furtive brown eyes, glancing this way and that, encountered those of George, frankly full of interest and admiration, they fell for an instant, and then, seeing that the Englishman was about to advance and speak to him, he clambered hastily over the side and dropped back into the boat.
'That is an uncommonly fine-looking fellow,' thought George. 'I wonder what he has done to be cooped up along with those evil-faced rascals. Not that his own expression is particularly engaging; but he has not the cut of a convict. And what a figure! I should like to see more of him.'
It is sometimes unwise to express a wish without previous consideration, and had George dreamed that he was to be taken at his word, or even faintly imagined how much more he was to see of this splendid Maori before all was done, he would have borrowed the wishing-cap once more, and had himself carried back to Sydney without delay.
But George was troubled with no sinister anticipations, and he was up and on deck betimes next morning, for there was much to be done, and he was not one to shirk that part of his contract which included hard work. The men had quickly discovered this, and, in consequence, every one on board liked him, while George, on his side, liked every one. He gave himself no airs, being sure of his own position, but respected himself and others, and did loyally what he had agreed to do. As a natural result he gained the respect and goodwill of those with whom he was associated.
The day dawned in all the lovely colours of the tropics, and the scene upon which George gazed was but a more radiant rendering of the exquisite picture of the previous evening. Bustle already reigned upon deck, and the captain's gig floated gently upon the ingoing tide, ready to bear the skipper ashore. On the island all was quiet to the eye, and apparently the inhabitants had not yet risen, for not a soul was to be seen.
With a cheery 'Good-morning, Mr. Haughton. I'll be back in an hour,' Captain Varsall set off for the shore, and George went to work with a will, bending his strong back over the cases in the hold and arranging a number of iron rods for easier stowage in the boats.
So absorbed was he in what had to be done, that his thoughts were wholly diverted from the shore until, half an hour or so after the departure of the gig, he was startled to hear the sharp smack of a rifle, fired not far away. He left his work, and hurried to the side of the ship, an example which was followed by most of the crew.
A singular sight met their eyes. A boat-load of Maoris was being pulled with frantic haste towards the brig, while on the island men and women, brown and white, were running wildly and, it seemed, aimlessly in all directions. Shots, too, became frequent, though neither their source nor result could be distinguished, since they were fired somewhere behind the houses. Then, while the watchers wondered, Captain Varsall was seen to run headlong out of the Residency, turn and discharge his revolver thrice in quick succession, and flee at top speed towards the beach. All at once he stopped, threw his arms above his head, and, just as a puff of smoke curled lightly upwards from one of the windows, fell face down upon the sand, and lay still, with arms outstretched.
Captain Varsall was seen to flee at top speed towards the beach (page 28).
But there was scant time to lament the captain's fate, for a crowd of brown men clambered over the rail and dropped upon the deck before George could move from the spot whence he gazed, fascinated, at the vivid picture of life and death. Then, even as he turned, a deep musical voice at his side exclaimed: 'Move an inch, young Pakeha,[2] and you shall walk swiftly to Reinga.[3]
George possessed a good working knowledge of the Maori tongue; but it needed no linguist to interpret the significance of a gun, held in powerful hands and presented at his head; nor was it less obvious that a rising of the convicts had taken place with complete success for the mutineers. Resistance was out of the question, for another lot of Maoris boarded the brig, and ere the bewildered remnant of the crew had fairly grasped the fact that they were attacked, they were roughly bundled into the hold and the hatches battened down.
George wondered why he had not been served similarly; but he was evidently reserved for more distinguished treatment, for his guard, motioning towards the deck-house, said: 'Let the young Pakeha go in there, into the little whare (house) that sits upon the bosom of the ship.'
'Ka pai!' (Good!) returned George, and the fierce brown face lightened for an instant at the sound of the Maori speech in the mouth of the handsome young Pakeha.
'Haere ra!'[4] exclaimed the Maori, grinning and using the native form of salutation to a departing guest; and 'Au haere!'[5] answered George, feeling pleasantly satisfied that no harm was intended him, in the first instance at all events.
'This is a sudden change,' thought the young man, as he looked through a little window at the shore. 'The poor skipper is done for; he has not moved since he fell. There's that tall fellow who was aboard yesterday. He is making for the beach. Now for developments. I suspect that he is at the bottom of this wretched business.'
As he watched, boat-load after boat-load of Maoris put off from the shore, their embarkation being directed by the tall, dignified man with whom George had been so struck the day before. As each boat reached the brig, it emptied itself of its passengers and stores, and returned for more, so that in no very long time all the quondam prisoners, to the number of about two hundred, were transferred to the ship.
Presently the last of the boats left the beach, bringing the tall Maori and such of his associates as had been employed to guard the Residency and other houses, as well as the two sailors who had rowed the unfortunate skipper ashore. A short interval followed, and then, amid the most lively demonstrations of welcome and respect, the organiser of the revolt boarded the brig, and stood looking about him with the proud air of a conqueror.
With a few curt words he dismissed the fawning crowd, and after a thorough examination of the brig and her cargo, returned to the deck-house. A whisper sent the guard out of earshot, and a moment later George found himself in the presence of the man who was destined ere long to prove himself a mighty warrior, and to incur the bitter hatred and execration of every colonist in New Zealand.
[1] The Chatham Islands, a group lying some 300 miles east of New Zealand. Wari-Kauri is Chatham Island proper.
[2] White man.
[3] The abode of departed spirits.
[4] Literally, 'Go truly.'
[5] 'I go,' i.e. 'Good-bye.'