Virgin Soil.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 142, 17 June 1936, Page 22

Virgin Soil.

(By Philip Sharpe.)

The lazy autumn sun rose slowly to find Seth already hard at his task. Little , heed did he take of the howevet, the plough furrowing steadily onward, turning the stubborn earth with no little effort, despite the four-horse team of giants he commanded. The going had always been difficult in this reitiote section of this'holding, thought Seth, although this farm, like its neighbours, was the cream of the Little River area, now in the late 'nineties. Besides, he was ploughing a lot deeper thaa had beer/ the custom in previous years,: intending to reach the 'rich soil lower in the earth. Strange tales had reached his ears about this area, too. Stories and somewhat vague incidents he had garnered at nightfall along at the small inn, just a mile or so away, where he usually spent his evenings in the company of his fellow men. Stories of a nomad Maori tribe who had camped here, of a legend that .was both tragic and picturesque. **. ♦ ♦ Ratamoa, chief of the tribe, was indeed a-celebrity: He was a man of immense cioportions, a powerful and courageous warrior, who had won fame and recognition of his deeds near and afar. His prowess with the short spear was proverbial. V With such 'a distinguished leader as Ratamoa the tribe were always free from molestation from other wandering mercenary bands and consequently enjoyed a period of peace and prosperity. Food was plentiful, eels, fish, birds and roots in abundance, and the tribe would move on only when these supplies were exhausted, which fortunately seemed quite a while yet. It ,was Ratamoa's custom to hold stalking expeditions whenever deer were reported, in the locality, when he went accompanied by several young bucks, armed with the deadly spear. It was on one such an excursion that Ratamoa and his band met with some strange people who were on such a foraging expedition as themselves.

' After exchanging civilities and making friendly offerings of food, one to the other, Ratamoa agreed to accompany the strangers to their pall, as a friendly gesture. Here they were welcomed by the chief Te Puke, a small, dark-skinned warrior, so energetic and dashing, with dark piercing eyes that missed nothing. Despite the difference in their heights, Ratamoa and Te Puke were soon confirmed friends. The whqle party were feasted and feted, held numerous competitions, and at nightfall swapped incidents and reminiscences of valorous deeds around glowing fires. Having heard of Ratamoa's prowess with the short spear Te Puke arranged for a tourney between the rival bands, which Ratamoa gladly accepted. The return visit from their newly acquainted friends was eagerly looked forward to. When thu great day dawned at last visitors poured in from the dusty plains and hills and when the main contingent, led by Te Puke, arrived, there were frenzied liakas and expressions of good will. Speeches were launched forth by the respective chiefs, which were loudly acclaimed on both sides. The parties soon mixed and soon the encampment j>resented a confused impression of coloured robes, flashing ornaments, shouting and gesticulating, and the thud of milling feet that soon raised the dust. Handsome young bucks swaggered about, preening themselves before dusky maidens, while frenzied gangs of excited, would-be braves rushed hither 'and thither* armed with flax spears and rolling their eyes in the most ferocious manner. Through this motley of sights and sounds walked Katamoa and Te Puke with stately bearing, arm in arm, and openly admired by all. The hour of the most important competitions arrived, the parties separating, prepared to enjoy themselves to the limit. The first event was a wrestling match between two tremendously proportioned men, who pulled and strained at each other, first one gaining the advantage and then the other. With muscles bulging, eyes straining, they strove, their threshing feet raising clouds of choking dust, which went unheeded by the madly excited spectators. After a clever piece of manoeuvring Te Puke's man executed a brilliant throw, his opponent sailing through the

air to land in a heap, ,from which posture he surveyed the gaping crowd with incredulously pained surprise. From there the crowd drifted to the scene of the next battle, which took place on the river. Two long, rakish canoes were pushed out from the bank, each manned with a crew of six, who paddled slowly to the starting point. At the signal, 12 paddles dipped madly in the water, the boats shooting forward like arrows from the bow. The canoes, cutting the water like swordfish were running equal, sweating, panting bodies swayed rhythmically to the chant of the leaders, the sun flashing and sparkling on the upflung spray. Neck and neck they raced to the finish, straining heroically, but it was Ratamoa's boat that gained the post by inches after a furious tussle.

Then followed the long awaited spear contest. Stakes were driven into the ground and on top were placed wooden bowls, the idea being to hit either stake or bowl at fifty paces, a really formidable target. After a period of spear sharpening and much gesticulating Ratanioa's man stepped forward and succeeded in hitting one stake out of his two shots. Te Puke's man failed dismally and Ratanioa's second string took aim. This proved a continuation of the first, one hit. A murmur arose from the packed onlookers, the local warriors seemed due for an easy victory. The next visitor poised, and cast, a splendid hit, as was his second throw. A subdued roar arose now, both sides equal and one man each for a throw off. The pick of the respective sides stepped forward, Ratamoa and Te Puke. Excitement ran fever high, the crowds pushing and jostling in the press for better vantage points while hakas and tribal calls swelled the already indescribable'clamour. A small knot of visiting young bloods in the forefront were recklessly laying all their goods and ornaments on Te Tuke. At last Te Puke stepped forward and the crowd was immediately hushed, the blade soared through the air and transfixed the stake up to the barb. A terrific roar greeted this shot and again he drove and down crashed a wooden gourd, a magnificent shot. (To be concluded next Wednesday.)

A third—a rainy afternoon slipping away all too quickly on a sofa in a boardinghouse drawing room. All— Joyce's piquant beauty and brown eyes, soft with love and happiness. Frank had gone down to Brightsea one August five years ago for a solitary holiday, and had met the Velieynes, brother and sister, who were staying at the same boardinghouse. He had been instantly attracted by them. Jack Veheyne was delicate, almost an invalid, and Joyce's senior by several years. Cliampney lent him books from the store he had brought with him, books which he neglected entirely for the pleasant companionship of the sister. Joyce and he had soon become firm friefids. She was a jolly, friendly girl. with a vein of romance in her nature. • • • *

She had confessed somewhat guiltily to a liking for poetry, and was highly pleased when Champney gave her the volume of verse and read passages from it to her.

The Veheyncs had finished their holiday first. Joyce and he had exchanged addresses and promised to write to each other with the idea of meeting again some time in town. Frank, however, had mislaid her address and she had never written. The proprietress of the boardinghouse, whom lie had approached eventually for information about the Velieynes, had been unable to assist him. A bump and an angry growl of expostulation from a passing pedestrian jerked Champnev out of his reverie. What had happened to the Velieynes? he wondered. Had Joyce forgotten him? Had they fallen on hard times? Seized with a sudden inspiration, he crushed his way through the narrow doorway into the gloomy interior of the shop, which was redolent with the mustiness of old leather and tens of thousands of books. A man shuffled forward to the littered counter with a hand extended for the expected coins. Cliampney paid the price marked on thereover and showed him the inscription on the flyleaf. "Coulct you tell me where you got this book ?" he asked. "It's a genuine inquiry," Cliampney reassured him. "This is my writing, and the book was my gift to the lady named. I lost her address, unfortunately, and want to get into touch with her." "Ah, I think I understand. I think I understand." There was a wealth of meaning in the old man's manner, a quizzing quality in the kindly eyes behind the glasses, which brought a flush to Champney's cheeks. "Can you help me ?" he asked, a trifle tartly, more annoyed with himself, however, than with the knowing shopkeeper. » » # # The old man examined the book. "So you wish to learn how it came into my hands," he said. "I do," Champney admitted. "It's rather important." "You expect much," the . other chuckled, waving a wrinkled hand round the book-glutted room. "Yes, yes, I quite understand." Champney assured him propitiatinglv, "I know—"

An hour later Cliampney pressed the bell of a small flat in Paddington. Tile door was opened by Jack Velieyne, who did not place Cliampney at once, but, on doing- so, tendered a hearty welcome. He ushered Cliampney into a booklined living room, gave him the best chair and pressed refreshment on him. "Joyce. She's very fit, thanks," ho answered Champney's inquiry. "But I'm forgetting. Yoat haven't heard the news, of course. She married an Australian two months ago. They're in Sydney now." Cliampney murmured his congratulations and drained his glass in Joyce's honour. , , "I had to give up "the other flat when she married," Veheyne went on. "It was too big, so I sold the stuff I didn't want and moved over here." • • • * , He paused abruptly. "By the way. Cliampney, where did you get the address?" Cliampney told him about his finding the book at the stall in Charing Cross Road. "Ah, I see," Veheyne nodded. "Yes, I did dispose of Joyce's books to some dealer or other. Not in my line, so I sold them for what I could get." "I'm glad you did," Cliampney said shortlv. "Why ?" "Obvious, isn't it ? Finding the book enabled me to trace you, Veheyne." Veheyne stared at him in surprise. "Me ? I thought you were interested in Joyce." "Oh, that was just seaside madness, over and done with years ago." "What do you want with me, then ?" "From you," Champney corrected with a grin. ' "From me?" "Three valuable books which I lent you at ;Brightsea and you er—forgot to return when leaving."