"I wish our old ship was here, and I was at one of the guns to help give
these beggars a broadside."
"It is very, very horrible, Jem."
"Ten times as horrid as that, Mas' Don. Here was we all as quiet and
comf'table as could be--taking our warm baths. I say, shouldn't I like
one now! I'm that stiff and sore I can hardly move."
"Yes, it would be a comfort, Jem."
"Yes, and as I was saying, here was we going on as quiet as could be,
and interfering with nobody, when these warmints came; and look at
things now."
"Yes," said Don, sadly, as he looked round; "half the men dead, the
others wounded and prisoners, with the women and children."
"And the village--I s'pose they calls this a village; I don't, for there
arn't no church--all racked and ruined."
They sat together, with their hands tightly bound behind them, gazing at
the desolation. The prisoners were all huddled together, perfectly
silent, and with a dull, sullen, despairing look in their countenances,
which seemed to suggest that they were accepting their fate as a matter
of course.
It was a horrible scene, so many of the warriors being badly wounded,
but they made no complaint; and, truth to tell, most of those who were
now helpless prisoners had taken part in raids to inflict the pain they
now suffered themselves.
The dead had been dragged away before Don woke that morning, but there
were hideous traces on the trampled ground, with broken weapons
scattered here and there, while the wounded were lying together
perfectly untended, many of them bound, to prevent escape--hardly
possible even to an uninjured man, for a guard was keeping watch over
them ready to advance threateningly, spear in hand, if a prisoner
attempted to move.
Where Don and Jem were sitting a portion of the great fence was broken,
and they could see through it down to the shore.
"What a shame it seems on such a glorious morning, Jem!"
"Shame! Mas' Don? I should just like to shame 'em. Head hurt much?"
"Not so very much, Jem. How is your shoulder?"
"Rather pickly."
"Rather what?"
"Pickly, as if there was vinegar and pepper and salt being rubbed into
it. But my old mother used to say that it was a good sign when a cut
smarted a lot. So I s'pose my wound's first rate, for it smarts like a
furze bush in a fit."
"I wish I could bathe it for you, Jem."
"Thank ye, Mas' Don. I wish my Sally could do it. More in her way."
"We must try and bear it all, I suppose, Jem. How hot the sun is; and,
ill as I am, I should be so glad of something to eat and drink."
"I'm that hungry, Mas' Don," growled Jem, "that I could eat one o' these
here savages. Not all at once, of course."
"Look, Jem. What are they doing there?"
Don nodded his head in the direction of the broken fence; and together
they looked down from the eminence on which the _pah_ was formed, right
upon the black volcanic sand, over which the sea ran foaming like so
much glistening silver.
There were about fifty of the enemy busy there running to and fro, and
the spectators were not long left in doubt as to what they were doing,
for amid a great deal of shouting one of the huge war canoes was run
down over the sand and launched, a couple of men being left to keep her
by the shore, while their comrades busied themselves in launching
others, till every canoe belonging to the conquered tribe was in the
water.
"That's it, is it?" said Jem. "They came over land, and now they're
going back by water. Well, I s'pose, they'll do as they like."
"Isn't this nearest one Ngati's canoe, Jem?"
"Yes, my lad; that's she. I know her by that handsome face cut in the
front. I s'pose poor Ngati's dead."
"I'm afraid so," said Don, sadly. "I've been trying to make out his
face and Tomati's among the prisoners, but I can't see either."
"More can't I, Mas' Don. It's a werry bad job. Lookye yonder now."
Don was already looking, for a great deal of excited business was going
on below, where the victorious tribe was at work, going and coming, and
bringing down loads of plunder taken from the various huts. One man
bore a bundle of spears, another some stone tomahawks, which were
rattled into the bottom of the canoes. Then paddles, and bundles of
hempen garments were carried down, with other objects of value in the
savage eye.
This went on for hours amidst a great deal of shouting and laughter,
till a large amount of spoil was loaded into the canoes, one being
filled up and deep in the water.
Then there seemed to be a pause, the canoes being secured to trees
growing close down to the shore, and the party busy there a short time
before absent.
"Coming to fetch us now, I suppose, Mas' Don," said Jem. "Wonder
whether they've got your pistol and cutlash."
But no one but the guards came in sight, and a couple of weary hours
passed, during which the other prisoners sat crouched together, talking
in a low tone, apparently quite indifferent to their fate; and this
indifference seemed so great that some of the thoughtless children began
to laugh and talk aloud.
For some time this was passed over unnoticed; but at last one of the
guards, a tall Maori, whose face was so lined in curves that it seemed
to be absolutely blue, walked slowly over to the merry group, spear in
hand, to give one child a poke with the butt, another a sharp blow over
the head, evidently with the intention of producing silence; but in the
case of the younger children his movements had the opposite effect, and
this roused the ire of some of the women, who spoke out angrily enough
to make the tall, blue-faced savage give a threatening gesture with his
spear.
Just at that moment, however, a loud shouting and singing arose, which
took the man's attention, and he and his fellows mounted on a stage at
one corner of the _pah_ to stand leaning upon their spears, gazing down
at the festivities being carried on at the edge of the sands below.
For some time past it had seemed to Don that the plundering party had
fired the village, for a tall column of smoke had risen up, and this had
died down and risen again as combustible matter had caught.
The fire was too far below to be seen, but the smoke rose in clouds as
the work of destruction seemed to be going on.
The singing and shouting increased, and once or twice the other
prisoners appeared to take an excited interest in the sounds that came
up to them; but they only sank directly after into a state of moody
apathy, letting their chins go down upon their chests, and many of them
dropping off to sleep.
The noise and shouting had been going on for some time, and then ceased,
to be succeeded by a low, busy murmur, as of a vast swarm of bees; and
now, after sitting very silent and thoughtful, watching the faint smoke
which came up from the fire, and eagerly drinking in the various sounds,
Don turned his eyes in a curiously furtive manner to steal a look at
Jem.
He did not move his head, but proceeded with the greatest caution, so as
to try and read his companion's countenance, when, to his surprise, he
found that Jem was stealing a look at him, and both, as it were,
snatched their eyes away, and began looking at the prisoners.
But at that time it was as if the eyes of both were filled with some
strange attractive force, which made them turn and gaze in a peculiarly
hard, wild way.
Don seemed to be reading Jem's thoughts as his sight plunged deeply into
the eyes of his companion, and as he gazed, he shuddered, and tried to
look elsewhere.
But he could not look elsewhere, only hard at Jem, who also shuddered,
and looked shame-faced and horrified.
For they were reading each other's thoughts only too correctly, and the
effect of that perusal was to make big drops of perspiration roll down
Jem's face, and to turn Don deadly pale.
At last each snatched his eyes away, Jem to watch the prisoners, Don to
close his, and sit trembling and listening to the bursts of merriment
which came up.
At such times, in spite of their efforts, they could not imitate the
apathy of the New Zealanders, but gazed wildly at each other, trying to
make themselves believe that what they imagined was false, or else the
prisoners would have shown some sign of excitement.
At last Jem ceased to make any pretence about the matter. He stared
speechlessly and full of misery at Don, who let his eyes rest wildly on
Jem's for a time before dropping his head upon his chest, and sitting
motionless.
All through the rest of that hour, and hour after hour, till towards
evening, did the wretched prisoners sit in despair and misery without
food or water; and the sounds of merriment and feasting came loudly to
where they were.
The sun was descending rapidly when about half-a-dozen of the conquering
tribe came up to the _pah_, with the result that those who were on guard
suddenly grew wildly excited, and giving up their duties to the new
comers, uttered eager shouts and rushed off in a way that was frantic in
the extreme.
Don and Jem again exchanged looks full of misery and despair, and then
gazed with wonder and loathing at the new comers, who walked slowly
about for a few minutes, and then went and leaned their backs against
the palisading of the _pah_, and partially supported themselves upon
their spears.
"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem with a shudder as he turned away. "You wretches!
Mas' Don, I felt as I lay here last night, all dull and miserable and
sick, and hardly able to bear myself--I felt so miserable because I knew
I must have shot some of those chaps."
"So did I, Jem," sighed Don; "so did I."
"Well, just now, Mas' Don, I'm just 'tother way; ay, for I wish with all
my heart I'd shot the lot. Hark, there!"
They listened, and could hear a burst of shouting and laughing.
"That's them sentries gone down now to the feast. I say, Mas' Don, look
at these here fellows."
"Yes, Jem, I've been looking at them. It's horrible, and we must
escape."
They sat gazing at their guards again, to see that they were flushed,
their eyes full, heavy, and starting, and that they were absolutely
stupefied and torpid as some huge serpent which has finished a meal.
"They must be all drunk, Jem," whispered Don, with a fresh shudder of
horror and loathing.
"No, Mas' Don, 'tarn't that," said Jem, with a look of disgust. "Old
Mike used to tell us stories, and most of 'em was yarns as I didn't
believe; but he told us one thing as I do believe now. He said as some
of the blacks in Africa would go with the hunters who killed the
hippipperpothy-mouses, and when they'd killed one, they'd light a fire,
and then cut off long strips of the big beast, hold 'em in the flame for
a bit, and then eat 'em, and cut off more strips and eat them, and go on
eating all day till they could hardly see or move."
"Yes, I remember, Jem; and he said the men ate till they were drunk; and
you said it was all nonsense, for a man couldn't get drunk without
drink."
"Yes, Mas' Don; but I was all wrong, and Mike was right. Those wretches
there are as much like Mike Bannock was when he bored a hole in the rum
puncheon as can be. Eating too much makes people as stupid as drinking;
and knowing what I do, I wishes I was in Africa and not here."
"Knowing what you do, Jem?"
"Yes, Mas' Don, knowing what I do. It's what you know too. I can see
you do."
Don shuddered.
"Don't, Jem, don't; it's too horrid even to think about."
"Yes, dear lad, but we must think about it. These here people's used to
it, and done it theirselves, I daresay; and they don't seem to mind; but
we do. Ah, Mas' Don, I'd rather ha' been a sailor all my life, or been
had by the sharks when we was swimming ashore; for I feel as if I can't
stand this. There, listen!"
There was a sound of shouting and singing from the beach below, and one
of the guards tossed up his spear in a sleepy way, and shouted too, but
only to subside again into a sluggish state of torpidity.
"Why, Mas' Don, by-and-by they'll all be asleep, and if we tried, you
and me might get our arms and legs undone, and take a spear apiece, and
kill the lot. What do you say?"
"The same as you will, if you think, Jem," replied Don. "No."
"No, it is, Mas' Don, of course. Englishmen couldn't do such a thing as
that."
"But only let us have a fair chance at them again, Jem, and I don't
think we shall feel very sorry if we slay a few."
"Sorry?" said Jem, between his teeth. "I mean a hundred of 'em at
least, as soon as we can get away; and get away we will."
They sat listening till the horrible feast below was at an end, and
everything became so silent that they concluded that the enemy must be
asleep, and began to wonder that the prisoners should all crouch
together in so apathetic a state. But all at once, when everything
seemed most still, and half the prisoners were dozing, there came the
heavy trampling of feet; the guards roused up, and in the dim light of
the late evening, the bonds which secured the captives' feet were
loosened, and, like a herd of cattle, they were driven down from the
platform upon which the _pah_ was constructed, and along the slope to
the sands, where the canoes rode lightly on the swell.
Into these they were forced to climb, some getting in with alacrity,
others slowly and painfully; two or three falling helplessly in the
water, and then, half drowned, being dragged in over the side.
"Not a bit sorry I killed some of 'em," muttered Jem. "They arn't men,
Mas' Don, but savage beasts."
It did not take long, for there was plenty of room in the little fleet
of canoes. The prisoners were divided, some being placed in the canoes
with the plunder, and treated as if they were spoil. Others were
divided among the long canoes, manned by the enemy, whose own wounded
men, even to the worst, did not hesitate to take to a paddle, and fill
their places. Some of the children whimpered, but an apathetic state of
misery and dejection seemed to have affected even them, while in one or
two cases, a blow from a paddle was sufficient to awe the poor little
unfortunates into silence.
As soon as the last man was in his place, a herculean chief waved his
hands; one of his followers raised a great wooden trumpet, and blew a
long, bellowing note; the paddles dipped almost as one into the water,
and the men burst into a triumphal chorus, as, for a few hundred yards,
the great war canoes which they had captured swept with their freight of
spoil at a rapid rate southward along the shore.
Then the sudden burst of energy ceased, the song broke off, the speed
diminished; and the men slowly dipped their paddles in a heavy, drowsy
way. Every now and then one of the warriors ceased paddling, or
contented himself with going through the motion; but still the great
serpent-like vessels glided on, though slowly, while the darkness came
on rapidly, and the water flashed as its phosphorescent inhabitants were
disturbed.
The darkness grew intense, but not for long. Soon a gradual lightening
became visible in the east, and suddenly a flash of light glanced along
the surface of the sea, as the moon slowly rose to give a weird aspect
to the long row of dusky warriors sluggishly urging the great canoes
onward.
Don and Jem had the good fortune to be together in the largest and
leading canoe; and as they sat there in silence, the strangeness of the
scene appeared awful. The shore looked almost black, save where the
moon illumined the mountainous background; but the sea seemed to have
been turned into a pale greenish metal, flowing easily in a molten
state. No one spoke, not a sigh was heard from the prisoners, who must
have been suffering keenly as they cowered down in the boat.
Don sat watching the weird panorama as they went along, asking himself
at times if it was all real, or only the effect of some vivid dream.
For it appeared to be impossible that he could have gone through what he
had on the previous night, and be there now, borne who could say
whither, by the successful raiders, who were moving their oars
mechanically as the canoe glided on.
"It must be a dream," he said to himself. "I shall awake soon, and--"
"What a chance, Mas' Don!" said a low voice at his side, to prove to him
that he was awake.
"Chance? What chance?" said Don, starting.
"I don't mean to get away, but for any other tribe to give it to them,
and serve 'em as they served our poor friends; for they was friends to
us, Mas' Don."
"I wish the wretches could be punished," said Don sadly; "but I see no
chance of that."
"Ah! Wait a bit, my lad; you don't know. But what a chance it would be
with them all in this state. If it wasn't that I don't care about being
drowned, I should like to set to work with my pocket knife, and make a
hole in the bottom of the canoe."
"It would drown the innocent and the guilty, Jem."
"Ay, that's so, my lad. I say, Mas' Don, arn't you hungry?"
"Yes, I suppose so, Jem. Not hungry; but I feel as if I have had no
food. I am too miserable to be hungry."
"So am I sometimes when my shoulder burns; at other times I feel as if I
could eat wood."
They sat in silence as the moon rose higher, and the long lines of
paddles in the different boats looked more weird and strange, while in
the distance a mountain top that stood above the long black line of
trees flashed in the moonlight as if emitting silver fire.
"Wonder where they'll take us?" said Jem, at last.
"To their _pah_, I suppose," replied Don, dreamily.
"I s'pose they'll give us something to eat when we get there, eh?"
"I suppose so, Jem. I don't know, and I feel too miserable even to try
and think."
"Ah," said Jem; "that's how those poor women and the wounded prisoners
feel, Mas' Don; but they're only copper-coloured blacks, and we're
whites. We can't afford to feel as they do. Look here, my lad, how
soon do you think you'll be strong enough to try and escape?"
"I don't know, Jem."
"I say to-morrow."
"Shall you be fit?"
Jem was silent for a few minutes.
"I'm like you, Mas' Don," he said. "I dunno; but I tell you what, we
will not say to-morrow or next day, but make up our minds to go first
chance. What do you say to that?"
"Anything is better than being in the power of such wretches as these,
Jem; so let's do as you say."
Jem nodded his head as he sat in the bottom of the canoe in the broad
moonlight, and Don watched the soft silver sea, the black velvet-looking
shore, and the brilliant stars; and then, just as in his faintness,
hunger, and misery, he had determined in his own mind that he would be
obliged to sit there and suffer the long night through, and began
wondering how long it would be before morning, he became aware of the
fact that Nature is bounteously good to those who suffer, for he saw
that Jem kept on nodding his head, as if in acquiescence with that which
he had said; and then he seemed to subside slowly with his brow against
the side.
"He's asleep!" said Don to himself. "Poor Jem! He always could go to
sleep directly."
This turned Don's thoughts to the times when, after a hard morning's
work, and a hasty dinner, he had seen Jem sit down in a corner with his
back against a tub, and drop off apparently in an instant.
"I wish I could go to sleep and forget all this," Don said to himself
with a sigh--"all this horror and weariness and misery."
He shook his head: it was impossible; and he looked again at the dark
shore that they were passing, at the shimmering sea, and then at the
bronzed backs of the warriors as they paddled on in their drowsy,
mechanical way.
The movement looked more and more strange as he gazed. The men's bodies
swayed very little, and their arms all along the line looked misty, and
seemed to stretch right away into infinity, so far away was the last
rower from the prow. The water flashed with the moonlight on one side,
and gleamed pallidly on the other as the blades stirred it;
and then they grew more misty and more misty, but kept on
_plash_--_plash_--_plash_, and the paddles of the line of canoes behind
echoed the sound, or seemed to, as they beat the water, and Jem
whispered softly in his ear,--
"Don't move, Mas' Don, my lad, I'm not tired!"
But he did move, for he started up from where his head had been lying on
Jem's knees, and the poor fellow smiled at him in the broad morning
sunshine. Sunshine, and not moonshine; and Don stared. "Why, Jem," he
said, "have I been asleep?"
"S'pose so, Mas' Don. I know I have, and when I woke a bit ago, you'd
got your head in my lap, and you was smiling just as if you was enjoying
your bit of rest."