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.
[1] The Chatham Islands, a group lying some 300 miles east of New
Zealand. Wari-Kauri is Chatham Island proper.
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.
[Illustration: 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]
[2] White man.
[3] The abode of departed spirits.
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.
[4] Literally, 'Go truly.'
[5] 'I go,' i.e. 'Good-bye.'
'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.