Garden of Pakarae

Otago Witness, Issue 3860, 6 March 1928, Page 5

Garden of Pakarae

by

Michael Storm

and

Fergus Dunlop.

Jtew Zealand . Story k

i (Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.)

CHAPTER I.

John Garden sat in the wide veranda of his homestead of Pakarae, smoking and thinking. There, from the door of his low, white house, he could see his great uncultivated domain, some 20,000 acres of New Zealand fern hill, and river flat, the broad river of his boundary, the surf-beaten beach of his frontage. These, over which his gaze roamed, were the only sights which pleased his eye, the only voices he loved to hear were the notes of the tui and the bell-bird, and the call of Maori bushfallers at work in his forest sections; the only music to his ear was the sound of the woodman’s axe, the bark of the „ sheepdog, and the crack of the stockman’s whip. Tea was over, and through the French windows of the dining room the native servant girl might be seen moving busily to and fro, clearing away the tea things. -A clear moon lit up the valley, gleaming white on the stumps of the new grass country, and showing up in bold relief the woolshed and stables and the round forms of the shelter trees on the flats. Through the almost motionless air drifted the strong scent of the cabbage palms, and a distant owl raised its doleful cry of “Mo-pork! Mo-pork!” The stillness of the early evening, and the slow drift of tobacco smoke invited reverie.

Garden sat dreaming, cigarette between his fingers, his brown features and lean, wiry shape silhouetted against the stream of light that poured out from the lamp which the servant had just lighted. Before him rose, the'vision'of his dreams, the crown of his achievement. He saw the forests of his beloved Pakarae changed to rolling downs of grassy pastures, saw the ploughs at work upon the. levels, saw the wide fields of corn—the Empire builder’s dream of conquest over, the wild. “ Charlie,” he said suddenly, turning to the huge, red-bearded figure of his man-servant, who was sitting on the step of the veranda, enduring the silence of his master with difficulty. “ Charlie, the bank will finance the felling and grassing of a further thousand acres.” Charlie’s large, hairy paw extracted from somewhere in the bush of his fiery beard his short, black pipe. He spat with enthusiasm. “My oath,” he said, adding for emphasis a string of oaths of his own, unnecessary to repeat. “Boss, that’s the best yet.” *’ Howl’s old M ire Whiskers getting on, Boss? ” he added after a pause. Wire Whiskers was an epithet commonly applied by Charlie to a person of great dignity, usually spoken of with more respect. Tie was alluding to that famous and well-born Maori chief Te P.angiawatea. The chieftain’s whiskers, which were short and iron-grey, did not, in point of fact, resemble wire as did Charlie's own, nor was the epithet in reality intended to be disparaging. “Te Rangiawatea? ” answered Carden. “The old man was here on Sunday, and brought me the porker you have just eaten. He seems rather worried, and has just gone off up the coast to a meeting of the chiefs.” “What’s worrying the old fellow?” “Partly the new Hauhauism or religious movement that seems to be disturbing the Natives. Some chap named Kereopa, up in the hills, seems to be a teacher of the new magic arts, and is raising the old cry of driving the zhitc man into the. sea. I fancy the old man himself is slightly bitten.” “Silly old fool! Is that all that is worrying him? I bet he tomahawks the first man that talks about any fighting.” “ Yes, he's straight enough.” Further discussion was interrupted by horse-hoofs on the grav.el, and Manuel rode into the stream of lamplight that shone from the open window’. “ Good evening. Mr Garden. Hello, Charlie! Got the mail?” The trader swung from his horse and seatea himself on the veranda, whilst Charlie, leading the horse, went out to get the mail. ■ A small, very active man of - middle age and Spanish extraction, he kept a small store and bar at the river mouth, and was cordially disliked both by Garden and by young Wilson, the missionary, the only other white man in the settlement. His shrewd black eyes surveyed Garden critically. “ Pretty lonely up here in the evenings, Mr Garden.” “ Oh, I don’t know,” replied Garden. “ Sorry you had to come up for the mail. I expect Mr Wilson will come up for his presently. I would have sent Charlie down if he hadn’t been wet and tired.” “ Better have come down yourself, Mr Garden. Winnie would have been glad to see you. She told me she saw you on old Mark standing on the sandhills this even ■

ing, and that you looked real fine and handsome. She likes you, Mr warden, Winnie does.” “ I am sure I am much obliged to Miss Manuel,” responded Garden rather ungraciously. Manuel's handsome, halfcaste daughter had already made it more than clear that she liked him. “Falling any busy this fall?” “ M by, yes, I think I will get down about a thousand acres in Number Three block.” “ Pity you hadn't that block of Vt innic s across the river,” Manuel murmured smoothly. “ Winnie’s mother was reckoned a big owner in these parts. It would be just the place to start on this fall.” “ Why, oo you want to sell it? ” “ Sell it? Why, no. She wouldn't sell it on any account. It was part of her mother's ancestraMand.” “ Then, what—” At this moment Wilson, the missionary, walked up to the veranda. He was out of breath, and had evidently run up the steep track to the house. His da'rk clothes, usually neat and orderly, as beseemed his office, were draggled and wet with brushing through dewy scrub. “ Good gracious, Wilson ! You steal up like a shadow in the night. Sit down and have a whisky.” “ I mustn't stay,” replied Wilson. I ran over for the letters. Mrs Wilson is alone with the servants. Gentlemen, there is dreadful news. Poor Mr Volkner has been murdered. God grant it may not be true.” “Great God!” exclaimed Garden and Manuel, starting to their feet. “Bv whom? ”

“ Kereopa! ” In horrified silence the men heard the missionary’s tale. A young native had run over from the pa with the news. Mr Volkner, the dearly loved missionary, known to them all, had been killed by Hauhaus some fifty miles up the coast. The details were too horrible to repeat. Kereopa and his band of fanatical Ureweras were on their way to Poverty Bay. They were said to be about twenty miles away that morning. “ If Kereopa and his band are coming dewm the coast,’there can be little doubt that their intention is to attack the settlement at Turanga,” said Mr Wilson. “ Yes,” said Garden, “ that is so. Everything will depend on Te Rangiawatea and his Ngatiporo chiefs. If they join the rebels, or even remain neutral, the settlement is doomed.” “ The rebels are said to be two hundred strong,” said Mr Wilson. “ Kereopa cannot get here till late tomorrow, at all events,” put in Manuel. “ He is over twenty miles away, and, as you know, the Maoris never march by night.” “ I am not so sure of that,” replied Garden. “ The Ureweras have a tradition that they arc the only night-marching tribe in New Zealand. I have not heard of their doing so in r*. -.ent years, but they may possibly revive the old custom under the influence of their religious fanaticism.” “ If they were to do so,” said the missionary, “ they could slip- by here and surprise the settlers at dawn to-morrow. The result would be too frightful to contemplate.” “ That’s what they would do if they had the ginger,” remarked Charlie, “ but the beggars is powerful afeard of the dark.” “ I do not think you need feel the least alarm, gentlemen,” said Manuel. “ there is plenty of time. They will stop to pow-wow at every village upon the track. If we send a messenger to Turanga tomorrow’s tide he can tell lie colonel to be ready for them. But they arc more likely to go over to Anaura, where the Ngatiporo chiefs are- meeting, and to attempt to proselytise or overawe them. I think we can all go home to bed.” Even as he spoke a sudden rattle of n.v.sketry rang out from the Native village. All leapt to their feet. “ My God! ” exclaimed Wilson. “ The Hauhaus ! My wife ! ” Almost, as it seemed, on the instant, a fire blazed up in the centre of the open space in front of the meeting house, and round it could be descried the bustle of dark forms as Kereopa’s savage followers swarmed into the firelight. On the still night air confused shoutings could be heard.” CHAPTER 11. As the cutter bringing Anne Caversham to the small settlement at Turanga rounded the northern point of Poverty Bay, the girl on deck was unable to avoid a sharp exclamation of wonder and excitement. Before her lay an expanse of dazzling white sand fringing the limitless ocean of the wonderful New Zealand blue. The sun here seemed to blaze

hotter and and fiercer than she had known it in the Homeland, and" loomed huger and more flaming in the sky. Away at the furthest end of a chain of beaches jutted out into the sea the chalk white promontory of Nick’s Head. Seen dimly in the distance, it yet caught the eye from every point, chalk-white, veiled in filmy mists of sun-gold and distant grey. Beyond the beach of Tauranga lay the rich alluvial flats, green in winter, but now straw-coloured with heat. Straight up the valley runs this priceless sheep country, right into the embrace of the giant hills behind and on every side. Rising to higher and higher crowns of blue and purple range, they stand. there ineffably majestic and sad. Anne caught her first distant glimpse of the New Zealand bush, whicn she knew by a sure premonition that she would learn to love. Kahikatea, puriri, rimu, tawa, pohutukawa, punga, tree-ferns, nikau palms, spiked cabbage trees, white-eyed mountain daisy, all dotted the hillsides with manyshaded green, -while on the car of imagination Anne fancied she could hear the tinkling of forest waterfalls behind the leaves.

As they moved inwards towards the shore Anne could see the tiny buildings of the settlement, looking like a group of dolls’ houses against such a vast background of uncultivated Nature. Choco-late-brown wooden buildings, with tin roofs and primitive chimneys, the hotel boasting an elaborate balcony round three sides; not many buildings altogether—were what Anne saw and her heart sank. Pictures of the home she had left danced before her eyes. The soft greystone mansion mellowed with a<m the park-like surroundings, the prim.’ perfumed gardens,’ drenched with English sweetness, the avenues of beeches, nink horse chestnuts, the shadv lanes and hills covered with a million' bluebells, they chased one another like tiny vignettes across her inward vision. ° A frightful sick longing seized her, a strangling longing for the noises and the sights of home and the English countryside, for the street noises of early morning. Anne came of a race that never gave way to weakness, that knew not the significance of alarm. She choked- down unknown sensations and went to p-epare for the landing. Truly Anne was beautiful. From the i ery sap and heart of English countryside she seemed to emerge. The fragrance of her was th fragrance of a million English flowers. The slender foim of her was clean-limbed, and her face cameomsar and full of the hauteur of fine English breed. When Anne moved she moved rather clearly and slowly, as one to whom definiteness was a fixed virtue. What she did was done and not to be undone. Now she moved towards this new country with calm and resolution, and faced the future without a remor. If Colonel versham, officer in charge of the district, and Captain Clark, n°is subordinate, expected, as they stood upon the landing-stage awaiting the arrival of the cutter, any truly Victorian tears and embarrassments from Anne, they were doomed to disappointment. Anne had been compelled by the death of her brother, and last remaining relative to seek a home in the most distant of our colonies with her uncle, Colonel Caversham, who now awaited her arrival. He and his junior anticipated the arrival of a woman in their bachelor ouarters with nrn miX m Ure J ° f P leaslue and Perturbation. and smiling Captain Clark dandified as it was possible for an officer on a remote colonial station to be, dandled and whirled his eyeglass, really in -cute a " tlc y; )at >? 1 ‘- The advent of a’lady, and an English lady, was an event of enormous moment, and the Colonel, not rJo\- ng Se< i n 4 n , ne since sh e was a tiny, P_sky girl with a golden pigtail, was Pacing up and down with short steps, and purpling face, hands behind his back testis" man ’’’ f ema rked he to Clark -Hss T 1 • ? r . tln ? With that e*eo n T T? \ s not the evening before a battle Don t get excited, man, don't g excited. I m not excited, am 1’ Look at me.” •

Dut°mv n 2’ T’ c ? rtainl .V not! I shall me td m>L eS aS f kr- my eye to e,labie me to pick out Miss Anne when she comes in sight. I cannot see as wdl as I should iike without it. The sun dn P i' e a y i3lft it? really quit" dazzled with the glare. Wonderful, Lnt

foPboat's'lhat 10 " 5 ’ aS ° ne always At length Ann ar ® c ° m,ng into haven. Ie n o th Anne, with unerring footstens passed lightly on shore. ” 1 ’ Uncle,” she cried, in a wave of nnw C ? CSS f ? r the stock y old veteran v-'H. j 1C ’ r i° n y blood rclati ve and link .Ah her home and her past. She flun" herself into his arms, and at the first’ the nCe i° f i hG amazin - p yes of Anne, both the colonel and Captain Clark were lost « tared - ThCy bad been h U i n" f * Sve years ’ and * lever before ful blu7e ey - eS 011 a girl with ™nderblue eyes, in a wondeful blue gown, ICI ° US blue bonnet ’ looking at them between curled black lashes. Anne settled down as quickly and- as “Wletdy 8s anyone could be expected to settle down. After, the initial mistakes were corrected, she rather enjoyed the open strenuous life, and the idea of taming the wilderness. But above all G l d ® he J°\ e t 0 ride away t 0 the solitudes of the bush and there listen to the voice ot a myriad of innumerable leaves shaken by the wind. It was as though the soul of the forest was akin to the soul of the girl, and she would steal away from the little crowd at the settlement, in defiance of the colonel's warning ad .rice. As she would canter on towards the mountains, the great dark masses, the trees would almost overawe her with their solemnity. But. she would approach. Dis.mqunting, she would tie, up her horse, and try to find a little track up among the trees. A network of stems below, a

sea of green arabesques, waving and curling above; star-like eyes of blossom, coloured leaves, a myriad minute mosses, scarlet ferns, the delicate dampness c' a million tree-ferns; all these things went to make up the bush. The stillness vexed and yet' soothed Anne. No bright plumage, no chattering of live creatures, only the tui’s occasional song, or the pattering feet of a weka, disturbed the silence. Anne would stand and let the immensity of the brooding forest soak into herself, and feel the pull of the alluring, graceful trees and sniff all the scents of the bush.

One day she was standing watching the supplejack vine which curled and twisted its way along the trunk and branches even of the giant kahikatea, when she thought she noticed something brown and supple gliding among the brown tree trunks. She hesitated a moment, and then, with no show of fear, advanced towards it. The form writhed from tree to tree and passed. The form could be discerned to be that of an old Maori woman, shrivelled and bent. Blue tattoo-marks in semi-spirals covered the chin and lower lip, the hair was woolly, but the eyes were still bright in that sunken face.

“Eh Hine, Tena Koe!” muttered the old woman, as Anne approached, and, laying her hand on the fleshless arm, made her a sign to relinquish fear. She held out to the old woman a large piece of cake, part of the lunch she had brought with her. The Native ate greedily, with evident signs of hunger, and looked up at her from the ground where she was squatting. “ Beautiful wahine,” she said with difficulty. “ Beware of Kereopa’s men. Kereopa come soon. Kill, burn, drive pakeha to sea. Beautiful wahine, trees teach Poteka, te Maori, many things, the pohutukawa over Turanga, splendid fierce pakeha, young as this sapling, will come to save you and teach you love-words and love-things. Fear Kereopa, wahine, but fear not the valiant pakeha who comes on. great black horse to save you. Poteka speaks this.” Quietly gliding away through the branches, the old Maori woman did not see the quick blush that overspread Anne’s cheeks at her words. It was impossible in that eerie stillness, with the crowding tree-presences all round, not to be profoundly disturbed by the seeress’s words. The name of Kereopa Anne had already heard, spoken in dread accents, as the name of the fiercest and most treacherous and most evilly disposed of the Native chiefs. As the settlers in Poverty Bay were few in number, and cut off from all outside communication by the precipitous mountains and vast distance to the nearest settlement, they were obliged to rely solely on their own efforts for protection, while the name of Kereopa and his army of braves was one to dread, as a child dreads a bogey which he cannot see and has never seen. Anne sped homewards, urging her mare to a gallop. When the brown buildings of Tauranga came in sight, the homely and friendly look of them brought a throb of thankfulness to Anne’s heart, and her gallop dropped to a canter. x\nne,” said her uncle, when she t Id him her strange story, and his voice was solemn. “ Anne, you have seen the wise woman of the East Coast Maoris. She comes and goes, and no one knows whence or whither. She is a law unto herself, and bides with no one tribe or people. Strange is her lore, and of the ways and policy of the East Coast she knows without end. Make a friend of Potaka, and you have m. de a valuable ally; but once let her become your enemy, and you will have your hands .nil of more than you can manage or ever will. Potaka sends warning of Kereopa, does she? Then let us look well to our affairs. I do not like it. I do not like it.”

“ Do you think she h.,s been spying round our defences, uncle? ” “ I should fear it if she had riot shown herself friendly. Potaka either-loves or hates. She is a true I ' r aori, arid therefore not teacheous. No. Potaka twill not spy for Kereopa.” “ Where is Kereopa, uncle?” “ Up to the north, past Pakarae. John Garden’s place. If he should come in our direction, he would first sack Pakarae ana a couple more places en route, and then arrive at Tauranga.” “ Oh-h-h,” said Anne, “ I sec.” “ But of course he is not the least likely to Come,” replied he colonel. “If your prophecy comes ' true, Oh Potaka, and Kereopa approaches our station, then it will be time for me to look for my young, fierce, valiant, brave, and perfectly marvellous god, who will come sighing like the wind and talking of love, eh, Potaka?” And though Anne smiled, she mused thereon. (To be continued.) >