THE FUGITIVES.

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 89, 14 April 1923, Page 22

THE FUGITIVES.

tAIA BIGHTS EESERVBD.)

A Story of the Early Days

BY ALICE A. KENNY.

AVake cried an order, and two of the men gathered the girl up in her bundle of mats, and carried her out. The party i formed round her, and they reached the 1 beach, AVake, in a glorious boyish fervour of adventure, chivalry, and racial pride. Laughing, crying, and bewildered, Barbara clung to the English sailors, and was passed into the boat. The whole swift and daring episode was over in a few minutes. Laurence stood like stone, his old agonies upon him. AA*ell, she was safe at last, and for him, left behind among these angry Maoris it would be swift and welcome death. But Mr. Midshipman Wake had other plans. AVithout Riving an instant's warning he roared his orders. "Collar that dirty devil! You're my prisoner, sir! Give way all! Keep that crowd on the beach covered!" | Laurence taken by surprise was easily seized. His feet were kicked from under him, and he was bundled into the boat, and quite unnecessarily knocked backward over a thwart. Half stunned, he Baw the side of the brig rise above , him, and a gleam of white canvas; and ! heard the orders given as Barbara was gently handed up to eager hands above. ! CHAPTER XIX. j OUT OP THE DEPTHS. j -So this was the end for him: the I terror, and sweetness, and desperation of the swift adventure had ended in this abyss of despair. ' In irons in a cell on the Vigilant, Laurence lay waiting to be conveyed back again to tho colony, there to be handed over to the prison authorities .as a runaway, a renegade, and an abductor. Barbara's friend and protector of yesterday had become worse than an outcast, reviled, and condemned, and so hated by the men about him that had i there been any pretext for a shipboard trial, he knew well that the rough justice of the man-o'-war would have ended in a yard-arm execution for him. | Hardened to,cruelty and injustice as be was, this was beyond endurance, and he was truly broken-hearted and despairing. "In the uttermost parts of the sea," he thought, bitterly, of the girl's words; [ "even there shall thy hand lead mc." And she was dying. It waa part of the wanton misery of hia circumstances, that she, who alone knew the truth, was unable to speak for, him. Yes, she was ; dying, the little, lovely, brave thing. But I for long habits of stillness he could have I dashed his head against his prison wall to free the fretting soul within. | One picture he had always in the dark depths of his heart; a vision of the great clean sea closing over the head of a drowning man, a man weighed down with irons and sinking out of sight forever. When he was conveyed from the ship to the shore it could be done. And ( in the blackness of his despair the . thought shone like a dear hope. . The Vigilant stayed a day longer in the harbour after the sick girl was carried ashore, for no other reason than to | suffer the ship's surgeon to attend her. She lay in a darkened room in the mission house, with her parents sitting beside the bed. The inexpressible joy of having her restored to them was pierced I with pain to see her so sick, dishevelled, and ill-used. -She did not know them, but looked from half-closed eyes, and muttered, and they were heart-wrung with dark fears as to what she had suffered.. The poor mother sat where the girl could see her face, holding the hot hand which seemed to grope for hers. The surgeon and her father were also in the room. Suddenly, she began to speak mofe clearly and quickly. "Mamma!" she said. "Oh, my lamb!" said Mrs. Goodwin, bending forward, with suffused eyes. "Do you know mc at last, darling?" But there was no clear light of recognition in the fever-bright eyes. i "Where's Laurence I" she said. "I want Laurence 1" j Mr. Carstairs in the outer room heard the girl's voice and came to the door. j "Is she better?" i "So, she's delirious still, Mr. Carstairs," replied the surgeon. "She is talk- : ing of that fellow. Come in." "Don't leave mc, Laurence," she I pleaded, tearfully clinging to her .mother's hand; And then in a lower tone. "I'm not frightened if Laurence is i here. He will take care of mc. Oh, Mamma! he ia so good to mc, and so brave." | "Don't you know mc, dearest? It is .Mamma. Laurence is not here." I "Yes, mamma dear, of course I know you. Laurence always said I should see you again. AVhere is he? I want • him!" I "Papa and I are here, dearie," faltered < the mother, holding the girl's hand to her breast with one hand, and smoothing : the hair back caressingly from her i forehead. ■ "You don't want Laurence now." I "Yes, but Ido . . ." she said plain- ' tively, after a pause. "Mamma and Papa and Laurence. Laurence takes care of mc. _, I would have died but for him." "But you don't want him now. Papa !is here to take care of you. You like jus best, dearie?" j "But I like him too he's my friend. . . . .why doesn't he come?" "Let mc give her this, Mrs. Goodwin," : said the surgeon, approaching the bed. "Drink this, young lady, and then go fto sleep." He lifted her head and gave : her a draught of medicine. She examined i his face: j "You're not Laurence," she murmured, ; and looked at the bright uniform but- ! tons. "*S*o, I'm not Laurence," he answered, smiling. "He brought mc water last night. . . !in the hut. Was it last night?" j "No, dearest, you were here last night. ;He was kind to you waa he, that j man?" I "Oh, yes, like a dear brother. He j saved mc from those terrible men . . . He said.he would save mc and he did ... he said it was right for him to die for mc. Mamma, he isn't dead?" "Hush, hush dear, no! You mtura't get excited. Try to sleep now, and when you wake you shall see him." She looked up appealingly at the three men as though begging that her promise should be made good, and Mr. Carstairs nodded reassuringly at her.

CHAPTER X\*III. MR. MIDSHIPMAN WAKE TO THE RESCUE. ; "Ti chippi!" (behold a ship) cried a look-out from the topmast terrace of the pa; and with a clamour of excited voices the whole population crowded to see. i Her majesty's big Vigilant, beautiful with snowy canvas, and her pennant streaming was standing recklessly in towards the impregnable pa of tfle Xgati Mako. "AVhat did I tell you?" exclaimed Ika Nui with exultation. "Here, already come ships to trade. Our pakeha shall talk softly to them—" "Nothing of the kind!" said old Rnkau-Mamore with sudden anxiety. "These are not men to trade. This is a war vessel, carrying, a taua (war party) against us." j Barbara had not risen from her hard bed that morning, and Laurence was bending broken heartcdly over her, putting water to her lips when the boom of the warship's cannon brought him to his feet. j He ran out of the hut and stared seaward. There hung the British ship, a ( white and beautiful thing against seal and sky. A ball of smoke was unrol-j ling from her side, and the smashed palisades of the pa told of the (runners skill. j AVomen and children, and even warriors too were fleeing in disorder from the danger. | "Aue!" (alas) they cried. "AYe shall be destroyed by fire and thunder from the sea." Lawrence's first heart leap of joy was sobered when ho saw the flying crowd. He had no wish to be brained with a stone mere (club) by some enraged fugitive, so he retreated into the hut, and waited. The girl lay quiet, occasionally tossing and moaning a little. Her eyes were half closed and it seemed to Laurence that she did not know him. I No other shot was fired, but there was stir and bustle on the brig. A boat filled with men dropped into the water, and rowed smartly to the beach below the pa. j A man in her stood up and displayed a white flag. It was then that ika Nui came dejectedly to the white man. "Thi3 war party: is it of your tribe?" "Yes, of my tribe." * j "Kawini Wikkitoria's people?" I "Most assuredly her people." I "If they kill any of my people I will kill you and the woman." I "If you do they will not go away until they have smashed your pa-to atoms with the big guns they have." Ika Nui looked malevolently at his pakeha and weighed his greenstone club in his hand. A lusty English voice nailed from the beach. I "They have come for a peace talk,", said Laurence, indicating the white flag. There will be no more shooting until you have spoken." i Five minutes later Ika Nui and several other chiefs, with Laurence among them were standing on tha little strand face tO face With Mr. Midshipman Wake and a party of well-armed seamen. I Mr. Wake was a bold and ruddy boy of seventeen, in white trousers and a short blue jacket. His eyes singled out tfle white man among his dark-skinned companions and the look be fastened on him wag full of enmKy an d insult. . f i° ur * Laurence?" he said. Yes, I'm Laurence." iJ2 b -' J 0 " * re ' are y° u7 Then the lady is here, you d- renegade!" face grew sickly pale, but 45 • 1 ■"* "_ ,nso - en t gaze steadily. .„^ eVp brou K h - an interpreter, but I • n PP?w y"n talk the lingo'" "Not well-—" turn-? w ?--*"-The young midshipman 2A" l *Bai-Hs_?-~ ! your name is, tell Zl K_ b_£ Ch 7 W "' Ve Come *°r the Eng-j n,] • aad . i W< - mean to have her." Ika Nui, with dark dignity, bade the' ___?#£ **. wI --' his M ™«* of th_! K *^° i W *--kitoria should do „1 w n <> _ 1,1 - rie -* d *-' as Bh °ot large can" I non balls destructively _„ to his Ja " finish ™la_* te v_? never •»-**-* to l down' a " ds WP-nan roared him' said the youth -win-;-- * . v? ■cc you cut to pieces h. W , ,T e tp »_*-- K SA*ja-£j «-?S?W , __rs? \L m T,'\ .R-p^-___?--3«l thrr?«^ ng --!- ,c in^ r Boundering I a gh , -?*-' " hich however was rendered fairly intelligible by The ITS?"?!-? em^tK de-nonstrations bp.™ t6 5 _?*-*- hil - wit -- * Party of I seamen at his heels. y ' Laurence caught his sleeve. "Wait— ■ you may be trapped. They've scattered, j ( £j* d *? er - are hundreds of them at j The middy threw off his hand, and brushed his sleeve. _s " K f*_ p .,."? ur *- am - s to yourself, Mr. Convict!" he said with an oath, "or you 11 find my fist in your mouth! Come ! on, men!" I On the brig, his commander, glass in hand, stamped angrily on the deck. j ■Reckless young dog, he'll get his I party cut to pieces in there!" | But it was one of those incidents where audacity successfully carries tne day, and the party of bluejackets swept into the strong pa unchallenged. In a fevered dream Barbara heard English voices shouting, "Miss Goodwin! Miss Goodwin! Lady! Madam! AVhere are you, Miss Goodwin! Here are Englishmen to rescue you!" She cried faintly in answer, and Wake thrust his head into the whare.

"May I come in! English sailors on* ' "Doctor," he said, as they moved the Vigilant " ' . quietly into the outer room, "when Miss "Sir," said one of his men, '> "these Goodwin was first rescued was sha» talkdevils are coming back, and looking i ing in the same strain about the man ugly. Best look sharp." - Laurence?"

"She was rather quiet and stupefied, but she cried out occasionally about some terrible men."

"I believe," said the missionary, "that if we could get the true story of all that has occurred we would find that great injustice has been done Laurence. Every mention she makes of him is full of gratitude and trust. It looks rather as if we owe her safety to him." "If that is so," said Mr. Goodwin, "if we owe it to him that we have the child safe back again there is nothing I would not do to show my gratitude.-"

"We may be going a bit fast," suggested the surgeon sceptically. "At least permit mc to see him," urged Mr. Carstairs. "I'll come on board with you, doctor, at once."

Laurence, haggard and wretched in his irons, stood up as Mr. Carstairs entered his cell and looked sombrely at the missionary. He spoke slowly:

"Have you come to tell mc she is dead ?"

"No, Laurence, I have come to ask you to tell mc all that occurred since the night of the attack when you took her from her father."

"So she is living .. ." His eyes filled with tears, and he stood silent, gazing at the floor, ne was thinking how lost to him she was now, how far removed.

"Laurence, I .want to hear from your own lips that you treated her with kindness and respect during the time "

"AVhat docs it matter, what I, say —I am already condemned" —he held out his manacled hands. "It won't take long to try me—and hang mc, in Svtlnpv."

"My boy." said Mr. Carstairs. with unusual gentleness. "I have not thought ill of you. But word reached us by a native prisoner who escaped from the Ngati Mako that yon were living in freedom and honour among the tribe with a white wife who pined and wept."

"I had to call her my wife," said Laurence, with emotion, "to save her from being taken as a wife by one of tho chiefs. I slept at her door and guarded her night and day. I've fought for her . . . she called mc her friend .. . I was ready to die for linr "

"Don't weep, Laurence. I am convinced of the truth of what you say. Believe mc, I can befriend you and get you your pardon and freedom for this. Pull yourself together, and I will have you brought before the captain, and you can make a statement of all that has occurred. And if, when she is able to tell her parents what had passed, her story corroborates yours you will be vindicated. The gratitude of her parents—-the young lady herself has been begging very touchingly to sec you."

"She knows—she knows," said Laurence, brokenly, "that I am not this!" and again he held out his hands. j .'

In the living room of the Mission ' house Laurence stood before a group comprising Mr. Carstairs, Mr. Goodwin, i and the surgeon, answering their I interested questions, in a low voice. He j was cleanly clad and shaven, but very j thin and worn, and his pale face waa stamped with suffering and anxiety. A ' guard from the warship waited without, I but the irons had beeu taken from his wrists. i

The morning sunshine poured into the ' plain little bedroom where Barbara lay with the brown braided hair spread out on the pillow, and brushed again to its satiny sheen. Her face was pale and calm, and' tlie fever had gone from her : eyes. Her mother sat near her.

Her eyes turned to the door as Mr. Goodwin brought Laurence into the room, and a touching gladness brightened her face. Laurence checked and gazed at her in a.sudden weakness and adoration, so frail, and angelically lovely she looked to- him.

"Ah! Laurence!" she said tenderly, and lifted a weak hand towards him. He came to the bedside and took her hand and knelt. He forgot tliafc anyone else wns there. He could not speak a word, but bowed his face on the hand he held in his own, feeling her inalienably his.

She felt his tears on her fingers, and murmured gently, "And to think that it is all over, and we arc safe. And but for you I would have died out in the wild. Dear Laurence," she added, and turned a little towards her mother, "Mamma, you'll have to love him too, because he saved your girl for you."

"That'll do now, Laurence," said Mr. Goodwin, uneasily, "better leave her." But as the young man rose Barbara retained her hold on his hand.

"Oh, no," she pleaded, "not yet. I want him. We have such a lot of things to say. Let him stay by mc for a little while. You will, won't you, Laurence?"

(To be concluded Satiirday next.)