WHERE THE WHITE MAN TREADS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14223, 20 November 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

WHERE THE WHITE MAN TREADS.

DOTTY. BY W. 8., IEKXTIXI. [ALL BIGHTS RESERVED.] ■For the purpose of this sketch, his name was Tolmash, for such his papers show to-day. A shred of one lies before me as I write. It is part of a fore-mast hand's discharge, ruled into division now hardly legible; but the signature, Hamilton Tolmash, written with delicate fine upstrokes", and the down bulging a decided swelling in the waist, denotes, by the rules of orthographic lore, a character of method, care, and strict exactitude; concatenant with that force of will whose ethics are, that the end in view indemnifies the means. In short; a scholium of Nature's invariable law/that selfishness is creation's outer bulwark of defence. For reasons obvious to the readers of vagrant history, I must write this memoir in the third person. I saw him only once, when he called in at our bay, a passenger on a private Southern Sea explorer's yacht, returning to America; and from what I noted there, together with stray native memories, and, finally, from an Irish priest, present a mass of matter, requiring no garniture other t.i a. a faithful editing to restore a species now extinct, but at the lime I write of a fairly common specimen;

As was our custom in that age of sparse out-world contacts, distinct from our well-known whaling visitors, from whose frequency and rig we could unerringly predict before they anchored that it was so-and-sq, our boat soon lay bumping at the stranger's side, and while father stepped on deck, I fended off our boat. Presently two beautiful boy and girl faces, purely yellow as buttercup flower petals on a cloudy day, looked down over the low rail, and, watching me, conversed in Maori. Now, to a stranger to our peculiar race entanglements, this jointure of child beauty and Maori speech would have elicited bewildered consternation. Not so to me, and eager with a boyish instinct for companionship, I only waited for an opening to join in. And when the boy looked shoreward, and wonderingly inquired, not of me, but the adjacent ambiance :'" Ko hea ra akonei?" (Where might this place be now I leaped into the breech with : "E kore pea korua c mohio" (probably you would know if told); upon which we were instant friends. But just as we nibbled deeper at the kernel of our intercourse, and I asked sociably, " No hea hoki korua?" (and whence might you two be?) a stern voice called: "Tommy!" " Phemy !" in a tone which jarred, yet .left no outlet but instant obedience, and my question fell unanswered. And as they moved away, I angered with a deadly hatred of that voice. Just then father stepped into the boat, . the voice came nearer, looked down, and when I saw its face, my anger seemed justified. Father shipped the sculls, and as we passed -beneath her stern, I read- within the bordering of a gilded scroll : " Swordfish, Connecticut." And but, for what befel in;after years, -this narrative should end here. ~-. ; -•■*-"-■■ *""■■■_. -;

; The errand I was on when I met Father Kelly, eleven years later, commanded that I should carry strapped at crupper and pommel trees two days' rations, a rubber camping-sheet, and a canteen flask of army rum. The day was late autumn, pregnant with storm, sullen and angry as Titokowaru, who was then at war with us, and when we invited his surrender, Blew his nose upon the paper, and sent it back. The black ironsand drifted in hissing, stinging cohorts along the beach between Otaki and Foxton. Ahead, toward me, the wind in his face, against the horrible inclemency, an object, seemingly a man upon a pony, turned his; back toward the sandstorm, until its abatement should permit one more advance.. It was Father Kelly, the Irish priest—his hat flap tied down upon his ears,, his person clad in a seedy, threadbare gaberdine, his wind-watery eyes ringed with a nimbus of black, adhering sand ; clad.further with a message from the Master to carry neither scrip nor wallet while upon His service; clothed also with that burning, tender brogue, haunting, like a good woman's : " Courage, dear," when things go wrong, which lingers, and shall linger, when that voice is dead. This was Father Kelly. I was not of his creed, yet my heart, that bitter autumn sunset day, went out and loved him. Father, if you had mistaken your vocation, and pressed me hard, you had conquered me. But your Master's orders were to carry Peace, not turn men's faith, nor proselyte. And this distant dav of writing, father, my heart is with that episode; your touching historiette; your memory !

Suddenly I bethought me of my flask of army rum, and holding it up in mock tantalage asked : " Father, are you teetotal?" That was the crazes' definition then. For the love av Jasus, me son, only let me at ut, an' I'll show ye in a twinkle!" . And while the restoring essence burbled down his throat, he crossed himself; and when he returned the flask, he crossed himself again. The drinking might be sin, but he placated accusing after-thoughts by instant piacular atonement. That, I think, is the proper way to sin : ask a blessing on it first, and afterwards" seek absolution ! Yet I seem to remember that he closed one eye! ' So we pegged out our horses, gathered driftwood, and . searching out the most protected spot among the sand-dune scrub absorbed the warmth of fire and coffee, and camped down as both knew from experience how. And while we stretched our creaking hinges, what follows saw us far into the night.

" Yes," he said, when I partially unveiled my private sanctum of various happenings; among them the yellow children on the Swordfish, and my anger at the Voice. "Yes, I knew the"man: Tolmash was the name he gave. An' would ye belave ut, me son, I married them, an' baptised his hathen wife, an', beyant again the childher. Hathen, did I say ? God love ye, child, she was no more hathen than you or I. Just a human crature widout thraning. But the heart av her was solid goold: tarnished maybe wid the alloy. . the . Great Father dropped into the crucible to make the metal rmuazy; but once claned, who can say what brightness lay benathe ? He was a Holy Roman by creed, but a hardened divvle by the nature av his heart! , A counthryman av mine bv the token: murdered his brother to gain the heritage, so the tale was told. Anniway he took the fright an clared; an' whin he come to me across the seas here, an' gave me the name, I looked him through, but held me pace. God be merciful! He might be doin' penance; it was not for me to ask the razon why he atoned in this wise— his intintion was atonement, which I canthidly misdoubt, wid the black heart inside Mm. I am an old man av sixty-four, me aon. I was a young man then. *.I learrnt the Maorri language azy. I saw his home life; it was fair to good, an' I had me hopes av him. He was kind to Dotty, that was the name he brought me to baptise her wid, which I refused to' take, manin, he might, (thereby mane some slurr. But Dolly it was: an'would ye belave ut, me son, she was that proud av ut, all the tribe must call her Totti: an' whin the whalin' sailors laughed, a mightily plazed woman was Tolmash'e Maorri wife!

"Then a son was born: a grrand little chap, that cliver now, he'd run a thorn into the calf av-yer leg, an' look in your face that darlin' innwell, well. Later, they had a daughter; a ewate angel now that was, an' that yellow— if chiseled out av butter. He' always seemed to be well supplied wid money. Little use av money those days, only exchangin' things in kind, until the Sydney thraders came. Those were gala times, me son, wid the newe from home. Befure that it was: 'Lind us the exthry pair av boots ay ye, an I'll lind ye me overcoat.' Or, 'Yer potatos are late, but yer onions airly'—an' there ye are. But thoee were good wholesome days, me son: plenty av rough kai, wid youth and strrinth, an' divvle take the hindmost. Not too severe wid the religion av ye, an' be pleasant to especially the poor hathen. God be good to us an' them, i always loved the cratures; some blaggards among them, yes; but sure, what'would the world be now widout the misguided souls among visall ? But as time went by I noticed that he altered to his wife: this was wrong, and that was wrong, and -called for undeserved rebuke. One dav he swore at her -in the prisince av me! 'So I cut off his mat© until he begged pardon av his God, an' made it good to her. At last he says: 'It's no good, father, I'll be tirin' ay the life. 111 be thinkin' av goin' home.' 'Home!' I cries, sharp and sudden. 'An' what awaits ye home! Have ye thought av that? An what about the lawful wife ye have an childher?' ' D the wife,' he ses, beyant conthrol. 'What about the childher then? I ses, hopin' to touch the heart av him. bo I did; for I heard no more, an all things seemed to rights again, till a month-later _ night, Dotty comes to the whare av me, very seared an' solium, an' peerm about, asks as if chokin': ' The childher, are they here?" ' No, my daughter,' I says, ' they re not.' Thin she gulps, an' asks: Ihe father av me childher, have you seen him. •Nather, me child,' I says, wid the could fear grippin' the heart av me. ' Why dux, she draws back an' shuts the dure noiseless. So I on wid me mantle an' hat an after her. From house to house, like, a cat missm her kitten, sniffin' softly, here an' there,, wid the low inquiry av each house, hstemn wid the head a-cant, she goes, an' I upon the heels av her. Out to the village stile. . . . Over, beyant, down to the beach, an' I snakin' on the heels av her. Out av hearin' av the pa she calls, a* if afraid av someone hearin', 'Tamariki-e-e. But only the cliff-face answers back. Then she comes back, an' I out av me spy-track steps forninst her: 'Me daughter,' I ses, come to my house, an' let the both av us run this avil to a hole.' But she passes by unhearin , and back to the beach an' sits down wid the gown flap drawn over the head av her, an listens. So I laves her there: 'God, relave her anguish,' I prayed. For I loved the gentle silent woman, an" because I had no heart to wilder her wid questions, I goes on a wander av me own. Yes, wan had seen him take the childher for a walk along the beach ... to the point, at sunset, dryin' his 'kerchief in the wind; but he thought he saw them comin' back. Then somethin' tells me; 'Run round the point wid all the strinth av ye, an' see it' the Swordfish is there.' Over boulders, shppin on kelp, stumblin' over driftwood, to- the point; round it. Yes, there is her riding light a-twinkle. Still on wid me to the Sydney thraders' house at the bottom av the bay. 'Anniwan in?' I calls after knockin'. No one answers. 'They're aslape,' I ses, an' stipe out on me return. Halfway back I hears the gintle clonk av oars against the tholepins, an' stoopin' low I sees a boat snake quiet to the landin' at the thraders house.' That settles ye, me son,' I ses, an back upon the tracks av me on the instint I goes, iricreasin* the speed. av me, an' me heart a-pantin' cruel. But there was somewan beside nie keepin' step. Jesus, have mercy: It is Dottv! She has watched an' followed me! Shod feet, an' bare pads; over boulders, through tide runs. An' I a-callin': 'Boat ahoy!. Stop a minyit!' B)jt befure we rache the spot there is a shufflin' on the sand a peevish I child's wail, as if just awaked ... an' the boat is gone! But the mother av the childher keeps straight on, lavin' me the hinder end av a wail. God will remimber to the credit av the sufferin' soul whose agony expressed it. Out, into the water, splash'in' it upon me, an' I upon the heels av her: '0, me daughter, stop!' I cries, layin' out to snatch at hei>, but the strinth av her arm hits me in the chist an' knocks me down! Out, up to her waist! Out, swimmin' wid the fore-rache an' afterkick of the racin' swimmer! Out, the black dot av her head gets smaller! Out; will she rache the boat? No; but in spite av the order: ' Pull, you , pull!' she is not shaken off! Then a flash spits at the blackness ! Then a davenin' roar among the hills and all is silent! Only the clonk av oar 'ginst tholepin, an' the inrush av the tide among the pebbles! But the black dot is down among the sea-wrack, waitin' for the call, the welcome, the Haeremai, av her people gone before!"