"Have they been rowing--I mean paddling--all night, Jem?" said Don, as
he looked back and saw the long line of canoes following the one he was
in.
"S'pose so, my lad. Seems to me they can go to sleep and keep on, just
as old Rumble's mare used to doze away in the carrier's cart, all but
her legs, which used to keep on going. Them chaps, p'r'aps, goes to
sleep all but their arms."
A terrible gnawing sensation was troubling Don now, as he looked eagerly
about to see that they were going swiftly along the coast line; for
their captors had roused themselves with the coming of day, and sent the
canoes forward at a rapid rate for about an hour, until they ran their
long narrow vessels in upon the beach and landed, making their prisoners
do the same, close by the mouth of a swift rocky stream, whose bright
waters came tumbling down over a series of cascades.
Here it seemed as if a halt was to be made for resting, and after
satisfying their own thirst, leave was given to the unhappy prisoners to
assuage theirs, and then a certain amount of the food found in the
various huts was served round.
"Better than nothing, Mas' Don," said Jem, attacking his portion with
the same avidity as was displayed by his fellow-prisoners. "'Tarn't
good, but it'll fill up."
"Look, Jem!" whispered Don; "isn't that Tomati?"
Jem ceased eating, and stared in the direction indicated by Don.
"Why, 'tis," he whispered. "Don't take no notice, lad, or they'll stop
us, but let's keep on edging along till we get to him. Will you go
first, or follow me?"
"I'll follow you," whispered Don; and Jem began at once by changing his
position a little as he went on eating. Then a little more, Don
following, till they had placed a group of the miserable,
apathetic-looking women between them and the warriors.
These women looked at them sadly, but made no effort to speak, only sat
watching them as they crept on and on till they were close upon the
recumbent figure which they had taken to be the tattooed Englishman.
"Why, if this is so easy, Mas' Don," said Jem, "why couldn't we get
right among the trees and make for the woods?"
"Hush! Some one may understand English, and then our chance would be
gone. Go on."
Another half-dozen yards placed them close beside the figure they had
sought to reach, and as he lay beside him, Don touched the poor fellow
on the breast.
"Tomati!" he whispered, "is that you?"
The man turned his head feebly round and stared vacantly--so changed
that for a moment they were in doubt.
But the doubt was soon solved, for the poor wounded fellow said with a
smile,--
"Ay, my lad; I was--afraid--you were--done for."
"No, no; not much hurt," said Don. "Are you badly wounded?"
Tomati nodded.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"No," was the reply, feebly given. "It's all over with me at last; they
will fight--and kill one another. I've tried--to stop it--no use."
Jem exchanged glances with Don, for there was something terrible in the
English chiefs aspect.
"Where are they taking us?" said Don, after a pause.
"Down to Werigna--their place. But look here, don't stop to be taken
there. Go off into the woods and journey south farther than they go.
Don't stay."
"Will they kill us if we stay?" whispered Don.
"Yes," said Tomati, with a curious look. "Run for it--both."
"But we can't leave you."
Tomati smiled, and was silent for a few minutes.
"You will not--leave me," he whispered, as he smiled sadly. "I--shall
escape."
"I am glad," whispered Don. "But Ngati?--where is Ngati?"
"Crawled away up the mountain. Badly wounded, but he got away."
"Then he has escaped," whispered Don joyfully.
"Yes. So must you," said Tomati, shivering painfully. "Good lads,
both."
"I don't like to leave you," said Don again.
"Ah! That's right. Don, my lad, can you take hold--of my hand--and
say--a prayer or two. I'm going--to escape."
A thrill of horror ran through Don as he caught hold of the Englishman's
icy hand, and the tears started to his eyes as in a broken voice he
repeated the old, old words of supplication; but before his lips had
formed half the beautiful old prayer and breathed it into the poor
fellow's ear, Don felt his hand twitched spasmodically, and one of the
chiefs shouted some order.
"Down, Mas' Don! Lie still!" whispered Jem. "They're ordering 'em into
the boat again. Think we could crawl into the bush from here?"
"No, Jem; it would be impossible."
"So it would, lad, so it would; but as he said, poor chap, we must take
to the woods. Think any of these would come with us?"
Don shook his head despairingly, as he longed to look in Tomati's face
again, but he dared not stir.
A few minutes later they were once more in the leading canoe, which was
being urged rapidly over the smooth sea, and it was a long time before
Don could frame the words he wished to say. For whenever he tried to
speak there was a strange choking sensation in his throat, and he ended
by asking the question mutely as he gazed wildly in his companion's
face.
"Tomati, Mas' Don?" said Jem sadly.
Don nodded.
"Ah, I thought that was what you meant, my lad. Didn't you understand
him when he spoke?"
"No--yes--I'm afraid I did," whispered back Don.
"Yes, you did, my lad. He meant it, and he knew it. He has got away."
Don gazed wildly in Jem's eyes, and then bent his head low down to hide
the emotion he felt, for it was nothing to him then that the English
chief was an escaped convict from Norfolk Island. He had been a true
friend and defender to them both; and Don in his misery, pain, and
starvation could only ask himself whether that was the way that he must
escape--the only open road.
It was quite an hour before he spoke again, and then hardly above his
breath.
"Jem," he said, "shall we ever see our dear old home again?"
Jem looked at him wistfully, and tried to answer cheerily, but the
paddles were flashing in the sun, and the canoe was bearing them farther
and farther away to a life of slavery, perhaps to a death of such horror
that he dared not even think of it, much less speak.