TALES OF EARLY TIMES.

Otago Witness, Issue 2660, 8 March 1905, Page 77

TALES OF EARLY TIMES.

Ko. V.— AN INTERRUPTED WEDDING.

By T. E. Mansard.

[All Rights Reserved.]

Mary M'lntosh and John Rutherford became "friends" on board the. ship during their passage out. They had lived in adjacent villages ,in the land of the "heather hills and bonnie lasses," - cus, had never met until the ship had left • the- Clyde on her voyage for New Zealand in 1853. He Avas then a stripling of nineteen summers, and she waa unable to number her seasons by a figure within two of Rutherford's; yet at seventeen she was capable of possessing that indefinable sensation that is roused in the maiden heart in response to the special attentions paid . to her by a well-formed .youth who evinces, under circumstances, a decided . preference for her-society. It' is difficult to 'determine whether such a drawjng together of two congenial spirits should in its first stages be called courtship, or even love. There is some occult influence at work that neither one of the two is conscious of at the time — a power that often is irresistible, while its operations are neither understood nor even known. There is no desire to begin a courtship, while flirtation is out of the question. Whatever it is, there can be - . no doubt that all is honourable and sincere ; but it is beyond the control of the - will, or, perhaps we might rather affirm, before which the will becomes passive. The maid will, for the time, forsake her best -loved friends, old and young, for the company of the one whose influence has so thoroughly asserted possession of her,, and the swam will risk any consequences almost that he may be for a time in the presence • of her Avho commands his will. It is, 1 presume, a human weakness, hut it is at ■ the same time an exes-ted power, for it setms that the power diminished in self ' lias been mutually transmitted to the other. But this is a question for philosophers, not for discussion in a short story. The .parents of both were of the well-to-do emigrants ' who came to the colony : with a, good- credit account to their 'names, but were not removed from those who had ! still to work and toil so as to Tiold what they had. and advance by slow degrees but sure methods to better circumstances, and as for their children, they pretended no more than to supply them with a good rudimentary education, a sound moral training, a sense of thrifty independence, and when the time came perhaps a small marriage portion* On His arrival in Dunedin Mr Rutherford invested some of his funds in land, "some hi used to purchase a half share in a business and to build a dwelling house for his family. Mr M'lntosh settled his J _ family in town and devoted himself to sheep and cattle, breeding out south. At first John Rutherford went into his father's office, but after a while he was offered a good .position by a merchant who had taken a fancy to him, and there, besides receiving a "much higher salary than his father's firm offered; him, he had many opportunities of doing little transactions on his own account, with the full permission of his employer, who was a man of one special line, and . held to it. John t was a shrewd fellow, and never lost by his operations, and so made money perhaps ' faster than his employer. Miss , Mintosh helped her mother to manage their domestic affairs, there being seven children to look after, all of them younger than herself. But it so happened that there was a young man of rising fame and eligible conditions, who had no sooner seen the bright and' genial Mary M'lntosh than he said within himself, "If I could only get her, I could make a happy home for us both." His trouble was, lioavever, at first that he had no .acquaintance with any of the M'lntosh family, and was at a loss to discover any means of getting an introduction to the young lady, whose modest manners and 1 well-moulded

features, set in a luxuriant growth of light brown hair, had captivated his imagination.

In- the course of business he met Avith John Rutherford, and eventually the two completed occasional transactions of small magnitude, which led to a friendship that, notAvithstanding subsequent events, lasted for many years. Through John Mr Andrews got an introduction to Mr M'lntosh, and afterwards he found his way to that gentleman's good gi'aces sufficiently to be invited to tea one Saturday afternoon, for Mr M'lntosh understood onough of life and character to nerceive that Andrews

might in this manner be induced to bring business to the firm ; and so it did. But AndreArs saw quite another phase of the picture. He- was a pleasant young man in company. He could sing a good song in a resonant, loAV-set baritone voice, and Miss M'lntosh was one of the few who at that time both possessed a piano and could play off an accompaniment at sight. He could relate funny anecdotes, speak gossip, and ring out a cheery laugh. These characteristics, every one will admit, giA r e a young felloAv a splendid recommendation in a family home.

He was careful in his tactics, mads no rash advances, but by affability and generous acts of attention to Mrs M'lntosh and the yo-anger members of the family he became in a very short time a special favourite; but> he also found that he had been forestalled by Rutherford in regard to the affections of the young lady of* his selection ; but as he learned there was no engagement betAveen them, he considered the game was not by any means hopeless,' so he resolved* to inaugurate a series of tactics by Avhich he hoped) to win in the ■war of lov^

While this was going on, Rutherford was not blind to what seemed to be the aim of his friend 1 , but wisely refrained from showing any spirit of resen+ment. The two often met at "Inverness House," and both remained as friendly as ever, but John knowing the risk of oHay when such a winning and wealthy suitor had come forth as his rival for the possession of bonnie Mary's hand, he took an early opportunity of revealing to her the passion of his soul, as well as the prospects of his head.

They had gone out into the garden, which meant an enclosure, in wiiich there was a piece of ground about a chain square ia flowers, vegetables, and fruit trees, and about an acre of unfelled bush, with a dense undergrowth of supplejacks, etc. About a hundred paces from the house there was a rustic seat built round the root of a stately 'black pine tree, and a little stream ran by rippling over its pebbly bed, and past its fern-lined banks, and) there John and Mary sat down in the delightful shade of the trees.

This was nearly two years after the. time they had sailed from the Clyde. He was just turned twenty-one, and felt all the dignity and responsibility that that fact conveys to a young Scotchman. Had it not be6n for the spur of rivalship it is probable John Rutherford would have been content to love afnd court without attempting to make an oral confession or seeking fGr fuller evidence of love in response for months, perhaps for years, to come ; but now 4e felt he must dare and do. He had not for one moment suspected that Andrews was weakening his influence in Mary's affection ; he had never supposed that she cared less for him, but he felt that, as he had never spoken of love to her, she. might be justified in regarding him as a laggardi, if the other should make bold enough to lay siege to her heart with words of love-making. He had sought and) secured his opportunity, and at once, gently lifting her hand in his, he placed a neatly-folded piece of paper in it, on which the following lines were faultlessly written, saying, "Read that, Mary." She complied with his request, and read : I love thee, M-ary! From my heart Never shall that love depart. Mary, will you love the swain Who that love would! die to gain? Here's a little golden thing, Prom my lips it bears~a kiss To the keeper of my bliss, 'Tis my love's engagement ring.

While she read the lines she lowered her head to screen her face from his eyes. He knew what was happening, andi he the whiLe pulled a ring from his vest pocket, with two clasped' hands graven on it grasping a beautiful, though not large, diamond. He kissed it, and 1 , raising her hand, again said :

"Let me try how it fits you, Mary." She did not resist, but said, without looking up at him, although she. was gazing on the ring between his finger and thumb : "Yo_u should speak to father and mother about it first. Oh, John ! it's a pretty ring !"

"My pretty sweetheart should have a pretty ring ; and I declare it fits you. Now you can show it to your mother. I think she will let you wear it."

"I hope so, John. But, oh ! it's far too good. It is a real beauty. Thank you, John ; I Jike it so much !"

"I am so glad my bonnie Mary is pleased, for I assure you her acceptance of it has made m.c very happy." A little more lover's talk followed, and then that most important affair being settled, as we all know how who have lived through a similar experience, or have read of it in novels, the two stepped towards the house, she clinging to her lover's arm as if she required a support. A.: they came out to the clear Mr Andrews, who had just arrived, saw them, and waving his cane, lie. gave a significant cough, and went to meet them, as if he regarded all as being just the proper thing, and of no concern to him. Perhaps what he had seen prevented him from making his visits more frequent ; possibly, it was the cause of his at once taking a trip down south, and being away from town for three weeks, but his friendship for all concerned was not visibly affected.

The engagement was not a short one, for it was almost two years later that arrangements were made for the wedding ceremony. This was a matter of financial prudence on the part of the young couple, who we're anxious to "come together" only when John Rutherford could wisely undertake the responsibilities of the head of a house. He had worked hard, had risen in the office, both in salary and in station, and" he had! continued to buy and sell and make money, until, three months before he had occasion to ask the Rev. Mr Burns to perform the nuptial rite, he was owner oi a house and town section, a farm well stocked at the Taieri, and a thousand sheep grazing in the care of a shepherd on the run of a gentleman who granted him the right for a small consideration.

The wedding was to be celebrated, as usual, at the x'esidence of the bride's parents, which was "Inverness House," on the banks of the Water of Leith, and was to be a very fine affair, terminating, as the custom was with the happy people of early Dunedin, in a supper and dance, continued until 3 or 4 o'clock in the. morning.

Honeymoons were not so common then as they are now, probably because facilities for travelling were so scarce and places of resort so few. The. honeymoon was more a period than a holiday, and our bride and bridegroom were content to have their own comfortable home to retire to when the supper was endied. Even carriages were luxuries of the future, unless people were prepared to dignify a bullock dTay, a sledge, or a common cart by that name. All the people could walk, even through the bush tracks, the boggy roads, and the muddy lanes. To walk was the chosen method of our friends.

It was the morning prior to the day ~^/*&e wedding: that John Rutherford called

on his fiancee to let her know that he must go that day down the harbour to Port Chalmers on a most important piece of busij ness for his employer, but he should return that evening, or, at the latest, early next morning. It was about midday when he started from the jetty in a small whale boat, manned by two sailor men well known to be as capable of performing such a duty as any men in the community. Both wind and tide were favourable during the greater part of the way ; but the tide turned just before reaching what is now known as Kilgour's Point, and from that progress was slow, for the wind was light, and when between the islands the current was almost equal to the speed of the boat under sail and two oars, with Mr Rutherford steering. The Port was at last reached, and while "John," as he was familiarly called, went to see to the business on which he had been commissioned, he sent the two men to "get something to eat," giving them ten shillings, with the remark : "That's half your fare ; I'll pay you the rest when we get back to Dunedin." This was, asi we shall see, perhaps the most \mwise act o.f generosity, certainly the most unfortunate, of which he was ever guilty. Two hours elapsed before Mr Rutherford had finished! his business, at the end of which ths captain of the ship he had come to meet pressed him to go off to the vessel for half an hour, and have a cup of coffee or something else, to refresh him before bis trip back to town. The half hour passed into a full hour, time pas&es so quickly when people are pleasantly employed, and it was- after 5 o'clock when Captain Russell landed John Rutherford at the little stage that served as a jetty, or miniature wharf, to the ancients of Port Chalmers. On going along to the building that was dignified by being called a "hotel," to tell the men he was now ready to start back for town, to his dismay he found them both asleep, stupefied with the purchasing power of the ten shillings he had paid them. They were partially aroused from their stupor by vigorous shakes and shouts, but it Avas found beyond the power of any efforts he was able to make to re- i store to them sufficient consciousness" to ■ r.ealise what was wanted of them. It j was growing late, and the tide would soon I be on the ebb, while the wind was still i from the south, and fresher than it had been all day. It was folly to suppose that those two men could ever succeed in getting the boat back that night. But what was he to do? . He applied 1 to the man in charge of the hotel for a solution of the difficulty. | "Wiell, sir," he replied respectfully, "it was not any fault of mine, for I told them ' j they were taking too much, and would not j i be able to get back with you if I gave ' ! them what they wanted. But I was ! forced, for the sake of keeping them quiet, to let them have it. You'd better stay till morning. I'll get them up at day- ' break if you like ; you will then catch the last of the tide, and 1 be home for breaklast. ** i "But do you not know where I could get two men to take me up to-night?" asked Rutherford. "I'd pay them well." I "No, I don't think you'll find' any two men here would attempt to start for Dun- j edin on the turn of the tide, a sou'- wester blowing, and it coming night- ' fall." "What am I to do?" impatiently broke from Rutherford's lips. And he turned out of the door to consult someone else — indeed, whoever he might meet. Already i the vessels in the stream were beginning I to ease the strain on their cables, showing | that the flood tide had ceased ; and Mr Rutnerford got no encouragement, no hope, of getting back. There was nothing that could be done but wait till morning. He went back to the hotel, had supper, anJ went to his dormitoiy early, so as to be fit for the calls of the coming day. He was, however, too excited to sleep. For hours he lay and listened to the wind, which by midnight was blowing a small gale. Then he could hear heavy drops of rain falling on the shingle roof close to his head. In a while the rain was both heavy and! constant, to the rhythmic patter of which he fell asleep. ' When he awoke it was 6 o'clock, and the storm was worse than it had been at , midnight, and the hotelkeeper had called no one. Rutherford at once dressed, and ! busied himself to find where his men were. He succeeded in rousing them from a heavy slumber, but they could not eat a breakfast which had been hastily prepared for them. They were deeply repentant over what they had done, and were willing to attempt anything to make amends for their misbehaviour ; so by 7 o'clock the whaleboat was under weigh. The tide was slack, but the wind was howling and the rain descending in torrents. Mr Rutherford had borrowed a suit of seamen's oilskins and a sou-wester hat. which gave him the appearance- of a sailor, as well ns the others. By hugging the shore and dodging the currents of the ebb tide, which soon set down on them, they succeeded in reaching almost to the weather point of Sawyer's Bay by the end of the first hour ; but now they were almost stationary, for the men were weak from indulgence in rum and from want of food, of which they had eaten none since the previous morning. It was clear that they could not manage to go on aith their task, and one of them. Bill Jordan, suggested they should pull into the bay and rest for a lull in the wind. They took shelter undOr lee of the point, tying the painter to the root of a totara tree that overhung the water, and here rested for half an hour. Mr Rutherford, knowing they would be faint before their task was over, had brought with him some coarsely-made sandwiches of bread and be-efsteak, instead of the orthodox material. These , were soon used up by the men, who two hours before had no appetite, and then they J felt fit to tackle the oars again- {

The tide was stronger, the wind no lighter, and the rain as distressing as before, but with renewed strength the first point was weathered and the next bay crossed ; but when striving with a regular "sneezer" off the southern point of Arden Bay, Jack Hollow snapped his oar just outside the tholepins, and all hope of further progress was over. In oonsequenoe t>uer ; put into Aides Bay sa taw-w , "There is etffl 4fo#," said Futherfori "to walk over th» hills, if I oviy kn»w tbc tiack." i But neither of the men knew anything about the track. They knew every bend and shoal in the channel, and could have steered a vessel in the deepest water from I 4io Heads to Dunedin ; but they had never I $rodden a chain of the track, nor had they the slightest idea whereabouts it was to be struck. | There was no sign of an improvement in the weather," and the hours were" -'flying past. Rutherford became angry. He knew where he was, and yet could not find a way of escape from his predicament. There was a road to Dunedin; if he could I find it- he would soon make speed over the hills, and in some condition, however ! ridiculous, give an account of himself ; , bul how was he to find the road? f On the one side was the harbour „ and the tempestuous wind ; before him on every hand was the almost impenetrable primeval forest. He had failed! -in his att.empt , to fight the wind and &ea;\ to try the bush 1 seemed almost as hopeless. He ascended j a little promo/itory from which he could see some distance through the thickness of tht; rain ; and while peering up the deep { glen that runs from Arden Bay towards ! the peak of Signal Hill, he saw_ some blue smoke rising from its recesses" about half a mile away. Here was a ray of , hope ; and, taking careful bearings of the ' appearance of the bush camp, he bade the , boatmen good-bye, and set off on foot : to scramble through the network of forest and undergrowth. Finding the stream after a d^al of labour, he painfully and slowly made his way up its conrs-e, and in course of time reached this sequestered temporary abode of nine human beings. I It was one of the most primitive of , all kinds for civilised men to abide in. j It was without walls, and had only a few branches of trees for a floor ; while ! J its roof was a series of fern leaves broken j j off adjacent tree ferns and fixed in some manner over the partially-fallen trunk of j , a tree. Those succeeded in shedding off 1 the rain to either side, where it fell into ' rudely-made trenches that kept all surface ' water from flowing in on the floor. It was j ' a comfortless place, yet it was better than ' no sort of shelter. At one end. was a ' rousing fire of sticks gathered from the surrounding bush, the fireplace being ' , merely a few rough stones torn from the ' ! ground and built into a two-thirds circle. J From this a gratifying glow was sent out, ' while the nine men drew as near to it as possible to share the warmth. > "Ah, I thought this weather would force you to look about for food and fire. Come along, we can make room for you, Jack, j You're better with us than hiding alone. ' Make room for him, boys !" said a little ' man in a broad Scotch accent. j "Oh, it's you, Ross," said Rutherford, ' at once recognising theWamiliar figure of I the well-known policeman, whose principal J duty lay in hunting through the bush to ! catch runaway sailors. "I will be glad if you could put me on the track for Dunedin." ! Ross, who knew there was a sailor named Jack Murdoch lurking about the vicinity, imagined he had caught his man, and re- \ plied : ! "Very smart of you, Jack ; but to get ' to Dunedin you must just peacefully fall , in here, and when the rain goes off, .ve'll all march up to interview the magistrate." | "Do you not know me, Ross?" inquired j Rutherford, with a smile. "I never was in such a bother in my life. Do help me . to find the track. I must be in town by ! 1 o'clock." . "Know you? Of course j. do. Who cculd mistake you? Come away, and just I make yourself at home amongst us here. It's not so good as a hammock in a fo'c'sle, but we've no better ; or, if you ! resist, why, the next thing'll be' 1 must put the darbies on you. That's what I never like to do. Now, be good-natured ' about it." I "Why, Donald," said Rutherford, "I thought you knew me too well to make fun of me in this manner." "I only know you to be Jack Murdoch, •■ A.8., runaway from the ship George Can- \ ning, and as a deserter from that ship I arrest you in the name of her Majesty the Queen. So now you know your position — it will be as well for you to make no more .trouble over the matter, and take your place amongst these other chaps," the constable made answer. "Mr Ross, of course I know who you are ; but you are carrying the joke too far. lam not Jack Murdoch, but John Rutherford, of Dunedin, whose father you know well. And let me prove it to you, for if I he the man you take me for, it would be impossible for me to tell you some things you know about John Rutherford and Miss M'lntosh, for I suppose you know this is the day of their wedding, and as I am bound to be there by halfpast 2, put me on the track, without further delay." "It's quite true about the wedding," said Ross ; "but take off those oilskins and that sou- wester. I must confess your voice is like young Rutherford's," said Ross in a more gentle manner. Rutherfoid at once pulled off the disguising waterproofs, when Ross sprang forward, saying : "Excuse m&, Mi Rutherford ! But any other man in my position, seeing you as you were got up just now, would have done as I did. But there is no harm done, I hope. Here, have something to eat," and he lifted! a cloth that lay near the foot of a tree, and also covered from the rain by fern leaves, and there were some

roasted pigeons and kakas and a piece of bread. Then, continuing, he said : "While you have a bite I'll think what I can do for you."

Being hungry, he ate, _;f his anxiety was the stronger passion, '"or in five

minutes he covered up the food, and was ready fo,. his orders.

"I* is impossible," said Ross, "foi me to

( leave my post, or X would be at your ser j vice. The best I can do is to give yoi directions." j He then advised him of the shortest way to the town — by the summit of Signal Hill, and thence down by Opoho, then called

Black's farm, on past Duncan's slaughter , yards, and thence to the Leith Flour Mills, , supplying him with a rough outline sketch | of the country, and our hero started on " a scramble through all manner of obstacles for the top of the hill, and a race against : time, tc reach the scene of his marriages before any real annoyance should occur

there. For the present we will leave him ' at his arduous toil, while we visit the

scene of the wedding. ! Mr Rutherford, sea., had been down to

inquire whether any message had com<s from John, -who had not returned ; but still all was hope, and the bride had adorned herself for the bridegroom and the wedding ceremony. The minister had arrived, and was having a happy chat with Mr MTntosh. Some of the guests were also then?, in spite of the weather ; even the "best man" had put in an appearanc-e without the groom, -of whom no one there had heard a word since noon the previous day. Mr and Mrs Rutherford, sen., arrived in a state of wet feet and mental agitation, but still all kept up the word of hope and expectation. The bride hadi not been told of the unhappy state of things, and when half-past 2 struck in the hall clock, she was ready for "going in to meet the bridegroom,'' with all her array of wedding fittings. "Had we not better be going V she

whispered to her best maid "Oh, there's no hurry, dear ; it is better form not to be quite up to ths minute." was given as the reply. She was sitting idl}- waiting, and, knowing no cans? for delay, rose and said :

"Well, let who will be late, I'll not have it said of me that I kept people waiting. Come on, my dears. Elsie, tell father we arc waiting for him." She was then Requested to stay just a few minutes, as some arrangements for Mr Bums had to be seen to before she could go in among the guests. Still there.' was no word of or -from the bridegroom j and sh-} had to be told. Half an hour passed, and still no " bridagroom, and Mary determined she would show herself and tell them how confident she was that. John was not to blame. Time passed on slowly, as it always does at such a time. It came 4 o'clock ; it came half-past, and then 5 o'clock, and then the minister announced that the ceremony must be adjourned until further notice, which he "hoped might be very soon indeed ; then he said a few kind cheery words to the bride, who now was? looking anxious, and the party broke up. By this time the vigour of the storm was over, and Messrs M'lntosh and Rutherford secured a stout crew of six men an<i a whaleboat to go to Port Chalmers and bring back word of what had happened. In the meantime some of the younger of tlv, guests were lequested to stay fo the special consolation of the disappointed bride. Among them Avas Mr Andrews, Avhose intimacy gave him a freedom of conversation with the bride, who had nowlaid aside her Avhite satin dress and Drange blossoms, and Avith a brave heart took aplace amongst her friends. Drawing a chair close to her he chatted aAvay for a Avmie. and th.en began to condone with her, expressing his pleasure at seeing how heroically she bore up under the trial. He always believed she was brave, but now he knew her io be a heroine. Then he said :

"Miss M'lntosh, I know you'll think me a brute for saying what I am going to tell you, but still it is true. When T saw Mi jKutherford leave for Port Chalmers at noon on the day before his marriage, and knew that he would be there in time to at feast see the Gil Bias sail for Melbourne, I could not resist a shudder."

"Do you think he has xun away and left us?" she asked, involuntarily, clasping her hands and staring him in the face.

"Oh, no ; I did not saj so much. I only told you how I felt at the moment. But Avhat can have prevented him from being here? If it were the storm, then there is a road, and he is a strong Avalker. '

"It would make me mad if I thought he had done such a mean thing," she said in a low voice that had a tone ot despair in it.

"That Avould be the most unwise thing you could perform. If he has done that, he was not worthy of you, and there is another who Avould be glad to step into the shoes he has cast off — eh, that is, ii he has done it."

"Whatever has happened," she said quietly, "1 Avill not believe him guilty of a base action until I have the proof of it."

"Then, remember, if you will, Miss M'lntosh, if that day comes, I am at your command ; and I could buy him out half a dozen times."

She rose from his side as if she had not heard his words, and was going from, the room, Avhen a knock came to the front door, and she ran with a little scream to answer it. When she had opened the, door, to her horror the light fell on a man clad in a sou-wester hat and oilskin coat and) leggings, -who, without Avaiting for any question, or asking one, advanced towards her with his arms ex,< tended. She gave another startled cry? and retreated, ds he said : ,

"Mary! Oh, lam so grieved, and; yej so glad to see you again !" a The little speech reassured her, and sn\ merely answered l : "\

I knew it was not you*

"Oh, John! fault."-

And, heedless of his get-up and condition, she macV no attempt to resist his embrace.

In a few minutes he gave an outline of all his troubles. After leaving the camp over which Donald Ross had command, he made his toilsome way through thickets until it seemed as if he would never get to the top ; when he got there it was nearly 5 o'clock, and he was faint and Aveary. There the storm was wild and furious, owing to which he could descry no landscape ; but, guided by the direction of the wind, he strove to make his way down the southern slopes, frequently being completely bewildered. At last he reached Mr Black's house about 6 o'clock, where he was generously persuaded to take some food, after which he was more generously guided) to the Water of I.°ith, from which he found his way to the arms of his bride.

"All's well that ends well." That day next- week the marria-ge was duly celebrated without hitch of any sort ; but Mr Andrews was not present.