“CAPTAIN SHEEN, ADVENTURER.”

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXVII, Issue 5311, 24 June 1904, Page 2

“CAPTAIN SHEEN, ADVENTURER.”

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE OF NEW ZEALAND. (BY CHARLES OWEN.) CHAPTER XIX. (Continued.) A smouldering auger showed on the laces of his followers and a spark only; was noedod to set the whole mass ablaze. Tho crisis had como. For a few minutes •ho life of every white man aboard hung iu tho balance. "Maui tin! hanga,” repeated Te Rauparaha iu scorn. “His father and mother were surely eaten! Let him alone! Let ns take and leavo the big waka to the pakehas. ’ “He is not worth the stroke of a warrior.’’ agreed Rangihaeata. “Ugh! Wo .mould have cooked his head at first.” “Take the snared bird, Tamaiharanm, and place him in the canoe of Te Rauparaha;” said To Rauparaha. Hero Stewart who had kept silence ielt it time to interfere. “This brig’s mine,” he said, in his bad Maori. “I’m innocent c’ the pakeha’s daein’s. Wad the Rangatira rob me?” “If a dog lives with a rat,” answered I'o Rauparaha, comprehending his mean.ng, “he is judged as a rat.” “The rangatira promised me flax, persisted Stewart. “The pakeha will get no flax,’ answered Te Rauparaha decidedly. “Hie pakeha wants too many words,” added Rangihaeata. “Weel, whit say ye to yer handiwork?” said Stewart, turning roughly on Sheen. Sheen made no answer, hut hung moodily over the side of tho brig, his attention bent on the crowd of canoes. For the first time he felt himself a beaten man. Under the direction of Te Kauparaha, Tamaiharauui was removed and the returning war party, in high spirits, quickly followed him over the side into the transports. The order cr its kind was as good as that of an English regiment. Tho long war canoes, with their steersmen, and fuglers to mark the stroke, were packed to their fullest capacity. They started for Kapiti with jubilant shouts and chants of victory the double rows of paddles keeping perfect time. The blue patch cf sea that lay between us and the shore was alive, and in the midst, the unfortunate Southern chief, with Te Whe. his wife, was carried towards his doom. How, tortured with red hot ramrods, he unflinchingly met his death at Gtaki is a well known matter of history which I need not relate. The subsequent behaviour of the two white scoundrels, who were instrumental in his capture, has hitherto gone unrecorded and is now made known for the first time. No sooner was the deck clear of Maoris than Stewart turned on Sheen. “Ye sloomy auld blastio!” ho cried. Sheen . looked to the priming of his remaining pistol and.again stuck it ostentatiously in his belt. “Bide a wee, my man,” Stewart proceeded, “an’ gin ye diuna get yer craig thrawn bolyve. I’m muckle mistaen. Whit expedition did ye gang on a whilie afore I cam’. Tell me that nool” “What’s that got to do with you ?” demanded Sheen. “Are ye for sayin’ I’m an inqueesitivo man ?” murmured the Scot. “Gin ye dao ye’re a leer, ferbye I’m leavin’ the kintra wi' a flea i’ my lug because o’ ye.” “I don’t care a hang whether you’re inquisitive or not,” answered Sheen, with a hasty shrug. “I’m thinkin’ there’ll be some bawbees awn for yer passage,” insinuated Ste»irt. “Ye ken the bawbees buckle friendship.” Sheen turned his back and looked out to sea. Then suddenly faced about his temper rising:“Enough of this damned drivel.” ho flared up. “I’ll pay you what’s fair for my passage.” “An’ the callant wi’ ye,” asked Stewart, meaning me. “That young cur,” cried Sheen. “We’ll talk things over about him. Dangle him from the yard-arm’s my advice; he’s less use than ornament.”

He eyed me maliciously. My share of the treasure, conveyed from place to place, and concealed with difficulty, was now part hidden in my mattress, and part sewn into my clothes. His desire to possess himself of it, together with his rage at my revolt, alone were incentives enough tc compass my death. Stewart was a bully and a rascal of the blackest type, but, from fear of the gibbet, he stopped short at the murder of Europeans. “Hoot, toot!” he said “Ye shouldna’ speak sae lichtly o’ a human life. A bit frolic, like we had at Akaroa, I dinna’ mind. It kin’ o’ relieves the monotony o’ existence. It’s gey different wi’ Mirrimy. His name’s, mebbo, pit doon m some tippenny beuk or ither, an’ he’d be speored aboot.” “He’ll swamp the whole business,” persisted Sheen, “the first time he gets ears to blab it to.” “He maun listen to reason,” Stewart remonstrated, loud enough for me to hoar. “F the meantime, Dan, to gae back to the question o’ bawbees. There’ll just be yer passage money and my ain wee bit loss upo’ the flax, ye ken. We’!! no argle-bargle anent that.” “What is it you want me to do?” asked Sheen, with a start. “Mak’ up my bit loss upo’ the flax,” said Stewart. “No, Pm damned if I do that,” answered Sheen, with vigour. “Mind ye, ye’re a man that’s wantit i’ Ammerriky,” slyly insinuated Stewart. “Drop that!” cried Sheen. • “I jalouse they’d bogey blythe to ha’e a crack wi’ ye attowre there.” “Drop it, I sayl” “Whit for na?” “Because I’m not the sort o’ man to stand useless threats,” Sheen answered, his voice stumbling with passion. “Hoo useless ?” queried Stewart. “Useless,” repeated Sheen, “because you couldn’t carry them out. That’s how 1” “Could I no’?” ‘You care too much for your own safety,” retorted Sheen. “You’ve not got a fool to deal wtih in old Dan Sheen and. though you used a false name. I know enough to have you hauled over. Besides I have evidence of another transaction between us, damning evidence, too so keep a sharp look-out ahead.” There was muttering thunder in his deep voice; I know that he was greatly agitated. The Scotsman’s blotchy face grow pale. “Tut,” he ejaculated, “nae hairm, Dan. A bit o’ jawthers atween freen’s just mak’s the air caller.” “That may be,” returned Sheen, “but don’t toy with edged tools. I’m ouicktempered and a bit handy* with- weapons sometimes. Don’t you flaunt your colours too often. You take me to Port Jackson and, when Pm safe landed. I’ll give you fifty pounds for the passage.”

“The deiTs owre guid when he’s pleased,” whined Stewart, “an’ I get nae mair o’ the cat nor the skin.”

“That be hanged for a tale, Jimmy,” said Sheen. “I’m not so easily hoodwinked. Didn’t you put into Korareraka before you came down here ? Didn’t you ship whale oil there? It isn't all

ballast yen carry by wliat the crew say cr. if it’s ballast, it’s saleable stuff. Why, Jimmy, you ought to take me free for the sake of auld lang syne.” The Scotsman bit his jip and played with the button of his jacket. “Awed,” he admitted, ‘‘it wore paid for wi’ guid gowd an* Fm no’ muckle certain o’ ony profit. Hech, man, what u sorry loen yo are.” “Yes,” ajiswered Sheen, “I don’t go about with my eyes shut and I never lose sight of an old friend.” “Fifty notes is muckle siller,” mused Stewart. “Got by ony o' tho auld cantrips?” Sheen hurst out laughing. His good- ; humour had returned, as it invariably did when he got his cwn way. “Stow your curiosity, Jimmy,” he said pleasantly, “I’ll keep my own counsel.” Stewart was looking towards Kapiti. The canoes were landing their human height* and, across tho expanse of sea, the noisy welcome of'tho Maoris who had come down from tho pah to welcome the warriors could be heard. “It’s a fair guid morn an’ be damned to them, the dark deevils,” said Stewart, shaking his first at them. ‘The best thing you can do is to weigh anchor and be off.” counselled Sheen. Stewart went forward where the crew were assembled, watching and talking. His conversation with Stewart had taken place in tho stern and I had listened, leaning over tho railing apparently unconcerned. Very soon the brig was a maze of moving figures; very soon we weighed anchor and tho sails were set. We were heading seaward on the course that Morgan had steered when he left us stranded, on that winter’s morning, many weeks before. Sheen and Stewart descended to tho cabin. I stayed on deck and meditatively scanned the receding shore, which would soon bo nothing but n memory. I thought of tho treasure I had won, which clung uncomfortably about me all the time. As I did so it Aashed across my mind that alter all my penis I might never enjoy it, that my fate might find me at yonder tossing yard-arm, when far out on the lonely sea. Last of the partners to share the late won wealth. how long would Sheen brook my presence? That was the question I CHAPTER XX. There was on© man among the motley foul-mouthed crew of the Elizabeth, who rewarded my closest scrutiny, by the suggestion that some shred of morality might still be left, after all the knocks he had received at Fortune’s hands. Once or twice I caught him observing me furtively, and I fancied I detected a kindly interest in his notice that prompted me to speak. I slowly made my way to where he was repairing a sail.

‘‘Don’t you get sick of this .life?” I, asked, in an off-hand kind pf a way, in order to draw him into conversation. “Sick o’ what?” he said, guardedly. “Sick of the soa,” I answered, keeping to generalities. “Not as I knows of,” he returned. “I dunne as I ever get sick of the sea—so far as it goes,” he added, with rough discrimination. Glancing round, to make sure that neither Sheen nor Stewart were about, I proceeded to question him. “You seem to make a reservation,” I suggested. “A what?” ho asked, puzzled. “A reservation,” I said. “ ‘The sea, so far as it goes,’ you say,” The look ho gave me satisfied me that my insight was not entirely at fault. “You’re a pal o’ the big, podgoy, feller.” he remarked. “I was his pal,” I corrected. “Been chucked eh ?” he asked inquisitively. “No, I’ve chucked him ” I responded. “He ain't no seaman, he aint,” he commented, “and you call him cap’en. Where’s his eddication? My name’s Eccles and I’ve been before the mast twenty year, but, damme, if I ever seed sich goin’s on as I’ve seed this last week. Cookery! By Hell, the cookery stinks ■in my nostrils yet!” I didn’t want any details; the memory of the whole thing was too vivid already. “You don’t think it was’ right to undertake that job?” I inquired. “Right!” He spat copiously and, looking mo !up and down for a moment, wont on: “I never knowed why it was done nor nought about it. That bully, Stewart, just come back an’ give his orders and the nest tiling we knows, you coves come aboard with them howling cannibals. Then we make Akaroa and the pig sticking game begun. It was no fight! Look at the odds! Dunno what was your share in it, nor nothin’ about it. But I know this much. As soon as ever we get to a port this chap’s off.” “No, you’re not,” I said. He looked up astonished as I gripped his arm.

‘You’ve got to give evidence by my side, as a witness,” I said, “for I’m going to bring these two men to justice.” “The devil a step I’ll go for that.” he rejoined. ‘■'Look here,” I went on, “they threaten to hoist me to the yard-arm. Now are there any decent fellows, besides yourself, among the crew I mean?” ..“Never a jack one,” he said. I was running great risks in trusting him that I knew, but I relied on certain signs and it proved I was right. The man was not dissembling; he uttered his true sentiments every time he spoke. “Are they bad enough to see a fellow strung up, without lifting a finger?” I asked. “They mebba wouldn’t stan’ by that sort o’ thing,” he replied. “17611, well,” I replied “we’ll ask no more o’ them than that. Only remember, if they try to hang me, you must do your best. If they don’t, you just lie low till we reach a port. Then I’ll lay an information and you’ll back me up.” “You’re a light • build, but you’ve a damn smart figurehead,” ho complimented. with a nudge, as I left him, for I hail caught a glimpse of Sheen’s big face, wearing anything but a pleasant expression at the head of the companion. Sheen lurched towards me. Stewart had come up also and was now talking to the man at the wheel, a dastardly scoundrel, he looked, too, who had really been picked up in place cf a more respectable mate in Australia. “Well, youngster,” said Sheen, accosting me brusquely. “Captain Sheen!” I returned. “Now what’s your lay?” he asked. 1 made no reply. “What were you conspiring about with your esteemed colleague yonder?” he inquired, nompously, pointing to the man who was sewing away energetically. “Sly conversation is my own business,” I replied. “What did you say to him ?” he demanded. Looking holdly into his eyes, as once I dared not, in spite of his every effort.. I defied his will. “Times are changed and you with ’em, sonny,” he said, “since you had your first swig o’ rum with me that was like blocd 1” “We have changed, all of us,” I acknowledged.' “I am not the weak fool I was then and I know you now 1”

‘Then you’ll no longer obey me?” he questioned. “That depends,” I said. “If obedience in your eyes means the yielding oi my will and conscience, then I will net. So far as this ship is concerned, and as one of her passengers, I obey the reasonable orders of Captain Stewart—like yourself—until wo touch laud. After that—well 1” Shrugging my shoulders, I looked out to sea.. The brig was pitching heavily ir a choppy sea, dashing up with spray a z every plunge. Distant Now Zealand locked like a low, shadowy, cloud under tho falling mantle of the night. The Captain’s eyes wore fixed upon mo. as I turned. He understood his position tea well to ho pleased at it. It must not be inferred that ho feared very much any information I could lay regarding the affair on board tho brig Elizabeth. South Sea law was nowise strict and acts of brutality were matters of everyday occurrence, so not much was likely to be hoard of the massacre of a few Maoris. That was not the point that troubled Captain Sheen. He was haunted by a man named Speering, always on his track, keeping him on tho move. “You’d bettor go down into the cabin, Caspar.” lie said, “Stewart and I have a few words to say to you.” (To be continued.)