The TE KOOG TRAIL

Otago Witness, Issue 3829, 2 August 1927, Page 62

The TE KOOG TRAIL

A Story of Adventure

By

Frank H.Bodie.

Jove <arad f

SYNOPSIS. CHAPTERS I AND ll.—The scene is the preat Roman Wall at Northumberland in 1858. After the Rev. Horace Winslow has finished telling the story of the Lost Legion (the Roman army that never returned) to his daughter Alice and Geoffrey and Eric Mantell, Eric, who is a very junior officer of it. hussar regiment, asks Alice to walk with .'him through the gateway in the Wall, where lhe Lost Legion had gone. She goes, thus proving her love for Eric, and making Geoffrey, Eric's eenior by one year, but his twin fn appearance vow vengeance on his another. Eric and Alice seem to feel that adventure awaits them, and promise to be true to each other until the happiness, which is to crown all, comes to them. That evening at his home, the Manor, Eric is accused by Ileyling, the stock bailiff of the place, of appropriating the sum of ,£l&7 from the rent of three tenants. When the money is found in his bag b< Geoffrey and Heyhng, his father, Sir Raglan Mantell, disowns him, and orders him away for ever. Eric, picking up the notes, stumbles away. CHAPTER HI.—BARNEY. Ihe blow had been so sudden and so stunning that it is doubtful if Erie recovered true consciousness until sunrise of the following morning. Then in the fresh coolness of the morning, as he plunged along the moorland path where the dew still clung to the grass, gradually he pierced through the chaotic incoherences of the past 12 hours. He saw, first of all, the scene on the terrace, then came a picture of the cosy room at the vicarage, and of the distress of Alice and her father. He remembered prohibiting the rector’s proposed visit as an intermediary to Sir Raglan : he glowed as he recalled Alice's indignant refusal to believe his guilt, and her promise to await his return.

At the thought of her he looked back to the spot where they had parted in the dawning—the old Roman gateway in the Wall. Yes, he could see her there still, h slight girlish figure on the coping of the bastion Hadrian’s men had built. He took oft his hat and waved a final greeting, his heart calling to her over the morning moors. A kerchief fluttered above the crumbling Wall. As he plunged down the slope that hid her from his view he was by turns very bitter and very unhappy. But, as he walked, the resilience of youth began to soften and to lighten his dour mood. Truth to toll, although the wrench had laid a heavy burden on his shoulders, and the shameful accusation that had driven him forth had for the time altogether numbed him, he began to feel an astonishing sense of release. In his veins was a resurgence of the Viking blood of his far ancestry. Before he had gone a league upon his journey this unremembeFcd blood had command of his being, and he desired with all his young strength to wander into chartless seas, to play a man's part among strange savage peoples. The peace-time routine of a junior officer in a cavalry regiment had, though he had not admitted it even to himself before, become unbearably irksome. ■With Alice by his side he felt that he •could have crushed down the urge of his Viking blood, but now that dream must wait. lie would answer the call of the blood, and seek a place among the men of action on some distant white man’s frontier.

Then, as he came down the valley that would bring him to Newcastle, he thought of the accusation his father had believed. Very clearly he saw the hand of Geoffrey in the sorry business. At school and later he- had suffered for his elder’s treacherous likeness, and he remembered how Geoffrey had laughed at Lis protests. To prove his own innocence he must unmask the other’s perfidy. That would be very difficult, for the other was very blever, and Eric felt that, should ho succeed, this final blow would break the proud old father’s heart. No; he would go out somewhere into the wilderness, and .win back an honourable name.

For a time he had been strongly tempted to send the money back to his father, but Alice’s calmer counsel had prevailed. So far as he and she were concerned, there was no taint with it—it- was much less than his rightful portion and it was necessary for his equipment on the path of adventure. At Newcastle, where he had spent the night, his plans were still nebulous. He thought of India, of the Canadas and of the Cape of Good Hope, but peace had come again to Hindustan and tho’ the name of the African Colony had an alluring sound, he desired to choose a sphere where courage and strength would be the certain talismans to success. He was in fact as a soldier of fortune, seeking the opportunities of a war.

Light came to him unexpectedly, as is tlie way of a world, in which the finger ef fate writes imperative messages in the most curious places. A chance paragraph

in the Newcastle Journal, telling of the possibility of a war in New Zealand caught his eye and finally captured his imagination. He bought an atlas and saw u:at this new born colony was at the far ends of the earth from Britain. He purchased, too, a book telling of the voyages of Captain Coc-k and there and then decided that 'he would trv his fortune in these distant and romantic isles of the far south-

That evening he wrote a long letter to Alice, telling ner of his hopes and plans and bidding her never doubt him or his fate. “My dear,"’ he wrote, “What we saw and felt together is so very real to me that I feel assured of our eventual reunion and happiness. You have all my faith and lovo in your keeping. May God guard you till we meet, as assuredly we will.” With the despatch of his formal resignation to the regiment—with a private explanation to the colonel—he felt that he was free ; and filled with this new sense of freedom and adventure, he came to Liverpool. “ You are exceedingly fortunate, sir,” the clerk told him in the shipping office on Water street. “ Our famous clipper, the White Star sails for Melbourne on August 20. On her last voyage, she did the outward run in 69 days and Captain Kerr fully expects to lower the record this voyage. Yes we have one or two berths loft. From Melbourne you will take passage by a coastal boat to Sydney. From that port, I understand, trading vessels run regularly to New Zealand. Yes, the White Star is at present loading at the berth and you can look over her. Thank you, this is your ticket, sir.”

With a forthnight on his hands, Eric purchased his outfit unhurriedly, seeking first of all the advice of the officers of the ship. He found the vessel all that had been claimed for her—a beautiful clipper o f about tors register, with shapely lines of speed and a towering array of spars.

O”o evening, finding lime hang heavily on his hands, Eric put on his greatcoat —it was drizzling slightly—and walked out into the dimlv lit streets of the shipping quarter. He had gone some distance when he. was attracted by a hubbub outside a tavern much frequented by sailors. Erie climbed a nearby step and looking over the heads of a crowd of sailor-folk and the hangers-on of a great port, saw a brilliant red head and a pair of flailing fists that were keening the press at bav.

“ Kick him wud ye,” roared the man of the red hair. “ mn; n • •- tho blissins av Barney O'Halloran av Count'’ Kerry, bid cess to tho hoflmo - v ’-o. Gome on closer to me now, while Oi tache ye the manners your mothers niver had the wit to larn yez.”

Tho num from Kerry was not very discriminating. His back was against +l,O „..,ii o r +l,n iflvorn. rmd he seemed perfectly satisfied to punch any face in the crowd that pressed around him. One of those opposed to him was spitting blood and teeth, and one or two others bore marks that suggested a forcible connection with the ham-like fists of the pugnacious Irishman.

“What's tho trouble about?” Eric asked a man who stood near him.

“Big Bill kicked the Paddy’s cur. an’ the fool wants to fight the port o’ Liverpool,” the fellow answered surlily. “ He’ll get a bellyful o’ fight, in a minute.”

On an impulse. Eric called to the hard-pressed Irishman. “ Hero, Kerry, catch this.” and flung the stout stick he carried over the heads of tho crowd. “Bedad, Oi will so,” the Irishman answered, and, catching the stick neatly, brought it down with hearty good will on the head nearest to him.

Several roughs pushed around Eric and jostled him. A clod of mud struck him in the face, and he lost his temper. “Keep hack, yon.” he said through clenched teeth. “ Well, if you must have it, take that! ” ’ A few shrewd blows cleared a space, and before Eric had fullv realised that he was mixed un in the bra\Vl, he was hv the side of the Irishman, giving and receiving a shower of heavy blows.

“Good fer yez!’’ chanted the Irishman, whirling his weapon deftlv, “Be the Black Bull av Athlone, we'll knock the immortal sowls clone out av all their dhirty bodies. Come on. ve kin av Cromwell, till we make black angels av yez all.”

There was a sudden break in the press. Someone called “ The nejelers are coming!” and the gang broke and fled, pursued by the ribald scorn of the man from Kerry. When three officers came up. flashing their lanterns to and fro, Eric had recovered his stick, and his warlike partner was kneeling and caressing a wire-haired Irish terrier that,

throughout the broil, had stood, growling savagely, between his master’s legs. “ What’s to do ? What’s to do ?” one of the policeman demanded irritably. “ All well, officer,” Eric answered cheerfully. “ This man here had a dog injured, and the crowd was inquisitive.” “ Well, get along home, then, if you’re wise,” growled the officer, flashing his light in Eric’s face. “ This is a bad place for any decent man on such a night.”

thanks, I’ll take your good advice.” As the three officers swung on, Eric turned to the Irishman, who had gathered the dog into his arms. “ Sound advice for you, too, friend Barney. How about home for you, before the crowd comes back again?”

The Irishman grinned. “Be the four bones av me body ’twould be sound advice, but for the truth that Oi’ve no home to go to. an’ thin,” he added regi etfally, Oi hate to lave as nate an imitation av Donnybrook as Oi ixpict to see outside the Quid Sod.”

Eric grew a trifle impatient. “ You must go somewhere for the night,” he said, “ and the Irish won’t be popular in this neighbourhood for some time, you know. It’s not healthy for vou about here.”

“As hilthy as the nixt,” Barney answered lightly, yet fell into step beside his recent comrade-in-arms. “ Whin Oi cracked his lordship's bailiff in ould Kerry ” “You—er—cracked a bailiff?” Wid all me heart Oi did that same, an’ niver shall regret it.” “ That’s a little different to my case,” Eric said a trifle bitterly’. “ A bailiff cracked me. But never mind that. Your attack on the breed has my sympathy’.”

“An’ proud Oi am av that,” Barney stated joyously. “ But where to go or who to crack nixt Oi’m bothered if Oi can till. Ye see sorr, ’twas this way: Whin me ould father got a thought backward wid his bit av rint they' put him an’ his few sthicks on the'road, an’ loike the dutiful son Oi am Oi tuk a sthiek mesilf to the man that made all the throuble. Thin Oi had to lave suddint. Faith, Oi cud foight the whole av Liverpool before me breakfast—but not a dozen av me own breed, so here Oi am wid me dog, an’ divvle the whisper av an idee where to go nixt.” Look here,” Eric said, obeying just such an impulse as had made him throw his. stick to the beleagured Irishman, “I’ve got a black mark against me in this country too. I’m going to New Zealand, where I hear there’s fighting, to make a new start. Would you like to come too ? ”

“ Faith Oi niver heard till av the place, but if there's foighting there ’twill be good enough fer me, an’ mailing no offence whativor, there’s no pair av fists Oi’ve sane Oi'd sooner foight beside than thim wans av yours.” lie stopped suddenly’ beside a street light, and Eric saw with surprise that his jaw had fallen, and he looked uncommonly mournful. “ But fwhat’s the use av talking. ’Twill cost a mint av money to get there, wheriver ’tis, an’ barring O’Hagan in me arms here, an’ the clothes Oi sthand in, Oi’m as far parted from money or vallyables as the divvle is from Dunmore.”

i “ Come along.” Eric had been turning I the thing over in his mind as they walked, and the idea was growing steadily stronger that a stout fellow like Barney would be a staunch and helpful comrade on the path of adventure. “ Look here. I’ve taken a saloon passage on the clipper White Star, sailing for Australia on the twentieth. It’s a sinful waste of money for a man with all his wa.v to make. If you will come with me I can get the ticket changed to two berths in the steerage. It will cost me no more money. You can say, if you like, I’m doing it in payment for the blow vou gave the bailiff. Wil) you come?” “ Bo the four bones av me, that will I!” the Irishman cried joyfully. “An’ if there’s foighting as ye say, faith ye’ll not regrit that Barney O’Halloran av County Kerry is at the side av ye. Be me sowl, this has been a great day—the makings av as swate a little divarshun as man cud ask, an’ atop av it a thrip to faith, Oi disreniimber where, but there s stiddy foighting, ye say. Shure Oi’ll come, an’ proud av the chanst.” That conversation on a murky Liverpool night explains how it came to pass that in January, 1859, a fair-haired giant and a red-topped, freckle-faced Irishman stood on the deck of the schooner Malicin as that sprightly craft drove in past the mountain isle that stands sentry to lovely Waitemata—the Bay of Shining Waters, whose cliffy shores were aflame with the scarlet of the sea-loving Christmas trees—to the gateway of the infant city of Auckland.

CHAPTER IV.—THE LOST LEGION. After the beauties of the harbour the straggling village of Auckland came as a disappointment to the travellers. Thev disembarked upon a narrow wooden wharf that faced a row of unbeautiful straightfronted wooden stores. Beyond was a scattering of unpretentious houses, and behind these, at the crest of a hill, a lonely windmill stood out against the sky. Nearer the new arrivals, but standmg upon a sharp rise from the wharf, was the spire of a church. I n the immediate foreground, at the shore end of the whart, Was a narrow strip of beach, upon which three long canoes had just been hauled up high and dry. Barnev was much interested in the dozen shawl-kilted natives, who at that moment were busy unloading produce for sale to the traders.

Is it thim wans well be foighting?” he demanded, pointing to the band of stalwart Maoris. “ Faith, they’re a will-lid, hearty-looking sit av craythurs.” I in not sure,” Eric answered with a laugh. “ We’ll have to find out how things are before you hit anyone. If there s truth in what we heard in Sydney, joull see all the fighting you want before we’ve finished.”

“ Praise that.” Barney murmured piously. “ ’Tis a terrible long time since I had that pleasure. Now who the divvle can this wan be?”

A short, big-paunched man, with close, curly hair and twinkling eyes came swaggering down the wharf with all the assurance of one who personally owned everything within sight. In his left hand he twirled a small metal bucket.

“ Bonjour, messieurs.” The little man waved his bucket in friendly greeting. You have come, is it not, to seek your fortunes in this so distant place? So did I, Jules Vidoux, of Paris, but there are no streets of gold in this paradise.” “Is there innv foighting? ” Barney asked eagerly. Eric tho’ still, as a result of years of training, inclined to be somewhat reserved with strangers, could not but be amused by the voluble Frenchman.

Ma foi! If you seek the wars, you shall have all you desire presently. But there is little glory and no money.” He thumped his bucket fiercely down upon the wharf, the better to gesticulate. “Of a certainty, there is no money in this whole country or should I not have found it. There is none with a keener nose for it than Jules Vidoux, and I find ” —he snapped his fingers with the noise of a small pistol “ not one friendless sou. Had l a few of your English pounds, I cou.d buv this whole country from the Cap du Nord to the Sea of the Whales in the south.”

( an you tell us where we can stop till we find our bearings?” Erie asked a trifle discouraged by the Frenchman’s remarks. “We don’t know a soul hero.” “ Monsieur. I shall do that with all the pleasure in the world, since already I owe the concierge for three weeks’ sustenance. Perhaps, who can tell, when I introduce you. she may forgive tho debt. Her place is clean, but she cannot cook. There is no one in this whole country who can cook, save I, Jules Vidoux. and who is there to pay me for my art? I Mas once a chef, but, yes, the second of all the chefs of Paris and now—behold!” He exposed the ragged edges of his faded blue trousers, and unbuttoned a ■worn coat beneath which there was neither shirt nor singlet. He shrugged his shoulders philosophically. “It is the fortune of war. and I a soldier of fortune. I had to leave the Paris that loved me. There was a lady, monsieur. As is ever the case, there was a lady.” He shrugged again. “ I was born under an unlucky star, and my beautiful France •shall never see me again. But to the concierge.”

They were installed in a room bare of all furnishings, save throe beds, but clean as soap and water ami much application of this combination could make it. Jules, highly gratified by the landlady’s reception of her guests—they had paid a week in advance—was at peace with the world once more and very cheerful. Of a sudden he slapped his thigh with a resounding smack, and burst into a joyous pea] of laughter.

“ If you will come, with me, mes amis, you shall have such a dejeuner as the Cafe of the Thousand Wise Virgins could not better,” he announced with immense elation. “Allions! You shall see that Jules Vidoux is not all words.” He picked up his bucket, and 1 ’ the way down the hill. Before the two new arrivals knew what was afoot, Jules had purchased some eggs, steak, sundry vegetables, three tin plates, and sonic cheap knives and forks, for all of which Eric, not in the least understanding why, duly paid. Then Jules whirled out of the dimly-lighted store, and led the pair of new arrivals, all a-wonder why they followed, up a slope into a scrub-covered gully.

“ Now you shall see a true artist at his art.” the Frenchman promised, as he carefully built a fire. “Ma foi! It is fitting that your first food in this so beautiful land should be prepared by Jules Vidoux. Always you will remember this day.” He performed mysteries of magic with the eggs, the meat, chopped fine, and the vegetables, using the bucket as a mixing bowl, and then as a cooking stove.

“Bedad, .Tools,” Barney murmured, as he sniffed the pleasant aroma, “ that mixture tickles tho viry tongue av mo. This blissid minute Oi can ate the smill av it.”

“ It is so,” Jules admitted with his customary modesty. “ There is no chef in your England and but one in France that is the equal of Jules Vidoux of Paris. I can take a handful of grass and the rind of an onion—if such there be, but if not, no matter —and I shall make for you a bouillon or a stew; more, parbleu, a dinner of four separate courses that would be the envy of your queen’s palace. Now let us cat.” Undoubtedly it was a wonderful luncheon, and Barney and Eric, too. were loud in their praises of the culinary masterpiece.

“ Now, messieurs, I have a proposal to make,” the Frenchman remarked, when the last vestiges of his triumph had disappeared. “ Why should you spend all your money upon fihe distressing food of the concierge when I am here? I cannot practice my art for myself alone; I must have what you call the audience. Let us then build a hut a la aborigine, and I shall cook. There is fish in the sea; pigs of the bon Capitaine Cook await those who seek, and I have the grand genius for the forage. You shall live like

the grand monarque, and it shall

you”—he snappy! his fingers in his characteristic gesture—“ not one solitary sou. There is no money here, as I say. Then why should you spend all that you have?”

“ But the war,” Barney explained. “ We’ve come here for a bit av foighting. Now, how about that? D’ye provide that in the minew, too, Jools?” “ Patience but a little, mon ami, and there shall be fighting for all, and some over for good ‘measure. Then still I shall forage and be your chef, for soldiers must eat, more than most men. I shall fight, too, friend Barney, though my art shall not suffer on that account.” He rose to his feet and saluted very gravely. “ Behold me, then, Jules Vidoux—a soldier of the Legion of the Lost. Here must I die in this beautiful land where there is no money—for I may not go back to France.”

His totally unexpected reference arrested Eric’s attention. “ Why do you speak of the Legion of the Lost, Jules’” he asked eagerly. “Do you know’ the story of the Roman legion that never came back?”

“ Certainement, for it is written, and without doubt to such a legion do I belong. Here, unknown to the Paris that was once at my feet—here, monsieur, must I die. It is my fate.” He was almost weeping. It is very curious that you should mention the Lost Legion.” Eric spoke slowly as one thinking aloud. “ Y’ou see, it happened that before I came here, I went out through the remains of the 'ciy gateway out of which those old Romans marched to their death. And I also have a black mark against me, so that, like you, I must be soldier of the Lost Legion.”

“ Be me four bones, Oi'll not be lift cut av the rowl-call,” Barnev cut in with simulated indignation. “ (Faith Oi cracked a man and lift him fer did an’ if he’s not in purgathry this blissid minute, ’tis because his hid was far harder than Oi Divvle a bit am Oi sorry—unliss he s reco\ered—but just the same Oi can’t go back to the ould 6 0d.” “ Mon cher Barney, I embrace vou.” llio little Frenchman advanced, as ‘if to make Ins metaphor a reality. “We three then, are all of the Lost Legion • La Capitain Eric, Sergeant Barney, and Corporal Jules, who shall be also forager and chef. Is it not so, mes amis? ” “ I'm beginning to think it is,” Eric answered slowly. “ There's something of fate in our coming together, we three soldiers of the Lost Legion.” He smiled, ruefully, then his face cleared. “ Certainly the commisariat could not be in abler hands.”

“You are right, as ever, mon capitaine. So long as Jules V idoux has a keen eve and a deft hand, I promise that the Legion shall not go hungry.” Jules kept his promise. The three companions, enlisting together, fought through the Waikato campaign, of which epic struggle I cannot here' tell. ’They took part in numerous skirmishes and several assaults on entrenched positions. Twice hot-headed Barney was wounded and once Eric was grazed on the arm by a bullet, but not once in six years of fighting in Waikato and along the' east coast, did the three want for food of a quality and cooking unknown to the rest of the forces. Jules went into battle with his bucket slung behind his shoulder, sometimes worn as a helmet upon his head, but when the fight was over, the bucket reverted to its real function of a peripatetic cooking stove and food, in some manner known only to Jules, appeared mysteriously out of the void and was as magically served, for their refreshment.

During the years of strife, letters had passed from Eric to Alice, and at intervals replies had reached the exile. There had been little change in the Northumberland village; Sir Raglan would hear no word of his son; Geoffrey was sometimes troublesome, but she was confident that the wanderer would return. For his part, Eric, told of the operations in which he took part, but truth to tell, less and less hopefully. It w r as all very hard work, with very little money and no great prospect of honour or advancement.

V hen the tribes finally submitted, Eric was a sergeant and all three had won a small reputation as good scouts and bold soldiers. They had been transferred to the disturbed Bay of Plenty and played a minor part in the savage Hauhau campaign against the mountain tribes. With the defeat of these fanatiis and the transportation of the chief rebels to an exile in tho lonely Chatham Islands, to the south-east of New Zealand, the trio became, not so much soldiers, as policemen. Eric was now 29 of age. as strong as an ox and as hard as nails, but as his vision of triumphant return gradually faded, subject to frequent fits of depression. He realised that he was playing a small part in winning a wonderful land to ordered prosperity, but be felt that all this did not lead him to the climax he had visioned on the Northumbrian moors. During the actual fighting, the Norse blood in his vem.s exulted and ho was fiercely happy. The reaction came afterward and as ho thought of Alice, and all that he had missed, his mood grew’ bitter.

Barney was entirely happy every minute of the time. Tn action he was utterly joyous: thereafter he. had all the pleasure of anticipating the next engagement. Jules, on the contrary, wrs merely philosophical. It was all a part of the inscrutable scheme of Fate that had flung him from his exalted position in Paris, and so was neither to be swept over nor derided, but must be accepted, good fortune or ill, just as it came along. Y r et all this had been but preparation for the approaching final test. At this period, it seemed as if the. war bad really ended, but unknown to the threq

Legionaries or to any unsuspecting white man in all New Zealand, dark clouds, presaging a fresh outbreak of fanatic savagery were gathering dowta in the distant Isle of Exile, where a new prophet was preaching a new crusade against the invasion of the white man. ( To be continued.)