Chapter 46 | An Untiring Enemy | The Adventures of Don Lavington

Jem kept careful watch and ward as he stood leaning on his spear. He was very weary, and could not help feeling envious of those who were sleeping so well. But he heard no sound of pursuit, and after a time the wondrous beauty of the glen in which they had halted, with its rushing waters and green lacing ferns, had so composing an effect upon his spirits, that he began to take an interest in the flowers that hung here and there, while the song of a finch sounded pleasant and homelike. Then the delicious melody of the bell-bird fell upon his ear; and while he was listening to this, he became interested in a beautiful blackbird, which came and hopped about him.

Jem laughed, for his visitor had some white feathers just below the beak, and they suggested an idea to him as the bird bobbed and bowed and chattered.

“Well,” he said, “if I was naming birds, I should call you the parson, for you look like one, with that white thing about your neck.”

The bird looked at him knowingly, and flitted away. Directly after, as he turned his eyes in the direction where the uneaten fruit was lying, he saw that they had a visitor in the shape of one of the curious rails. The bird was already investigating the fruit, and after satisfying itself that the berries were of the kind that it could find for itself in the bush, it came running towards Jem, staring up at him, and as he extended the spear handle, instead of being frightened away, it pecked at the butt and then came nearer.

“Well, you are a rum little beggar,” said Jem, stroking the bird’s back with the end of the spear. “I should just like to have you at home to run in and out among the sugar-barrels. I’d— Hah!”

He turned round sharply, and levelled his spear at a great Maori, whose shadow had been cast across him, and who seemed to have sprung out of the bush.

“Why, I thought it was one o’ they cannibals,” said Jem, lowering the spear. “Good job it wasn’t dark, old chap, or I should have given you a dig. What d’yer want?”

“Sleep,” said Ngati laconically, and, taking Jem’s spear, he pointed to where Don was lying.

“Me? What, already? Lie down?”

“Sleep,” said Ngati again; and he patted Jem on the shoulder.

“All right, I’ll go. Didn’t think I’d been watching so long.” He nodded and walked away. “Wish he wouldn’t pat me on the back that way. It makes me feel suspicious. It’s just as if he wanted to feel if I was getting fat enough.”

Don was sleeping peacefully as Jem lay down and uttered a faint groan, for his left shoulder was very painful and stiff.

“Wonder how long wounds take to heal,” he said softly. “Cuts arn’t much more than a week. Heigh-ho-hum! I’m very tired, but I sha’n’t be able to go to—”

He was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, and directly after, as it seemed to him, he started into wakefulness, to find Ngati standing a few yards away, shading his eyes and gazing down the gully, and Don poking him with his spear.

“All right, Sally, I’ll get up. I— Oh, it’s you, Mas’ Don.”

“Quick, Jem! The Maoris are coming.”

Jem sprang to his feet and seized the spear offered to him, as Ngati came forward, brushed the ferns about so as to destroy the traces of their bivouac, and then, holding up his hand for silence, he stood listening.

A faint shout was heard, followed by another, nearer; and signing them to follow, the Maori went along up the gully, with the stream on their right.

It was arduous work, for the ground was rapidly rising; but they were forced to hurry along, for every time they halted, they could hear the shouts of their pursuers, who seemed to be coming on with a pertinacity that there was no shaking off.

It was hot in the extreme, but a crisp, cool air was blowing to refresh them, and, of its kind, there was plenty of food, Ngati cautiously picking and breaking in places where the disarrangement was not likely to be seen. Every now and then, too, they saw him make quite an eager dash on one side and return with eggs, which he carefully placed in the woven bag he had made.

This went on till he had nearly a couple of dozen, at which, as he trudged along, Jem kept casting longing eyes.

In spite of the danger and weariness, Don could not help admiring the beauty of the scene, as, from time to time, the gully opened out sufficiently for him to see that they were steadily rising toward a fine cone, which stood up high above a cluster of mountains, the silvery cloud that floated from its summit telling plainly of its volcanic nature.

“Tapu! tapu!” Ngati said, every time he saw Don gazing at the mountain; but it was not till long after that he comprehended the meaning of the chiefs words, that the place was “tapu,” or sacred, and that it would act as a refuge for them, could they reach it, as the ordinary Maoris would not dare to follow them there.

Higher up the valley, where the waters were dashing furiously down in many a cascade, Don began to realise that they were following the bed of a river, whose source was somewhere high up the mountain he kept on seeing from time to time, while, after several hours’ climbing, often over the most arduous, rocky ground, he saw that they were once more entering upon a volcanic district. Pillars of steam rose here and there, and all at once he started aside as a gurgling noise arose from beyond a patch of vivid green which covered the edges of a mud-pool, so hot that it was painful to the hand.

From time to time Ngati had stopped to listen, the shouts growing fainter each time, while, as they progressed, a heavy thunderous roar grew louder, died away, and grew louder again.

Don looked inquiringly at Jem.

“It’s the big chimney of that mountain drawing, Mas’ Don.”

“Nonsense!”

“Nay, that’s what it is; and what I say is this. It’s all wery well getting away from them cannibals, but don’t let’s let old Ngati—”

The chief looked sharply round.

“Yes, I’m a-talking about you, old chap. I say, you’re not to take us right up that mountain, and into a place where we shall tumble in.”

“Tapu! tapu!” said Ngati, nodding his head, and pointing toward the steaming cloud above the mountain.

“Oh, you aggrawating savage!” cried Jem.

Ngati took it as a compliment, and smiled. Then, pointing to a cluster of rocks where a jet of steam was being forced out violently, he led the way there, when they had to pass over a tiny stream of hot water, and a few yards farther on, they came to its source, a beautiful bright fount of the loveliest sapphire blue, with an edge that looked like a marble bath of a roseate tint, fringed every here and there with crystals of sulphur.

“Let’s have a bathe!” cried Jem eagerly. “Is there time?”

He stepped forward, and was about to plunge in his hand, when Ngati seized his shoulders and dragged him back.

“What yer doing that for?” cried Jem.

The Maori stepped forward, and made as if to dip in one of his feet, but snatched it back as if in pain. Then, smiling, he twisted some strands of grass into a band, fastened the end to the palm basket, and gently lowered it, full of eggs, into the sapphire depths, a jet of steam and a series of bubbles rising to the surface as the basket sank.

“Why, Jem,” said Don laughing, “you wanted to bathe in the big copper.”

“How was I to know that this was a foreign out-door kitchen?” replied Jem laughing.

“And the water’s boiling hot,” added Don. “You can see it bubbling just at this end.”

“Think o’ that now!” said Jem. “I say, what a big fire there must be somewhere down b’low. Strikes me, Mas’ Don, that when I makes my fortun’ and buys an estate I sha’n’t settle here.”

“No, Jem. ‘There’s no place like home.’”

“Well, home’s where you settle, arn’t it? But this won’t do for me. It’s dangerous to be safe.”

Meanwhile, Ngati was listening intently, but, save the hissing of steam, the gurgling of boiling water, and the softened roar that seemed now distant, now close at hand, there was nothing to be heard, so he signed to them to sit down and rest.

He set the example, and Don followed, to lie upon his back, restfully gazing up at the blue sky above, when Jem, who had been more particular about the choice of a place, slowly sat down, remained stationary for a few moments, and then sprang up, uttering a cry of pain.

“Why, that stone’s red hot!” he cried.

This was not the truth, but it was quite hot enough to make it a painful seat, and he chose another.

“Well, of all the rum places, Mas’ Don!”

He said no more on the subject, for just then Ngati rose, and carefully drew the bag of eggs from the boiling pool.

“And I called him a pig!” said Jem, self-reproachfully.

“No: no pig,” said Ngati, who caught the word.

“Well, I didn’t say there was, obstinit,” said Jem. “Here, give us an egg. Fruit and young wood’s all werry well; but there’s no spoons and no salt!”

In spite of these drawbacks, and amid a series of remarks on the convenience of cooking cauldrons all over the place, Jem made a hearty meal of new laid eggs, which they had just finished when Ngati looked up and seized his spear.

“What’s the matter?” cried Don listening.

Ngati pointed, and bent down, holding his hand to his ear.

“I can hear nothing,” said Jem.

Ngati pointed down the ravine again, his keen sense having detected the sound of voices inaudible to his companions. Then carefully gathering up the egg shells, so as to leave no traces, he took the bag with the rest of the eggs, and led the way onward at a rapid rate.

The path grew more wild and rugged, and the roar increased as they ascended, till, after turning an angle in the winding gully, the sound came continuously with a deep-toned, thunderous bellow.

“There, what did I tell you?” said Jem, as the top of the mountain was plainly in view, emitting steam, and about a mile distant. “That’s the chimney roaring.”

“It’s a great waterfall somewhere on ahead,” replied Don; and a few yards farther on they came once more upon the edge of the river, which here ran foaming along at the bottom of what was a mere jagged crack stretching down from high up the mountain, and with precipitous walls, a couple of hundred feet down.

Ngati seemed more satisfied after a while, and they sat down in a narrow valley they were ascending to finish the eggs, whose shells were thrown into the torrent.

“I should like to know where he’s going to take us,” said Jem, all at once.

“It does not matter, so long as it is into safety,” said Don. “For my part, I— Lie down, quick!”

Jem obeyed, and bending low, Don seized the Maori’s arm, pointing the while down the way they had come at a couple of naked savages, leaping from stone to stone, spear armed, and each wearing the white-tipped tail feathers of a bird in his hair.

Ngati saw the danger instantly, fell flat on his breast, and signing to his companions to follow, began to crawl in and out among the rocks and bushes, making for every point likely to afford shelter, while, in an agony of apprehension as to whether they had been seen, Don and Jem followed painfully, till the chief halted to reconnoitre and make some plan of escape.

It was quite time, for the Maoris had either seen them or some of the traces they had left behind; and, carefully examining every foot of the narrow valley shelf along which they had climbed, were coming rapidly on.

Don’s heart sank, for it seemed to him that they were in a trap. On his right was the wall-like side of the gully they ascended; on his left the sheer precipice down to the awful torrent; before them the sound of a mighty cataract; and behind the enemy, coming quickly and stealthily on.