Garden of Pakarae

Otago Witness, Issue 3861, 13 March 1928, Page 62

Garden of Pakarae

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CHAPTER I.—John Garden, of Pakarae, is talking to Charlie, his man-servant, about the rumours spread by Te Rangiawatea (a friendly Maori chief) concerning the rising of the Hauhau§ under Kereopa, when Mr Manuel, a man of Spanish extraction, whose daughter, Winnie, is in love with Garden, comes to the house for his mail. Just then Wilson, the missionary, appears with the news that Mr Volkner, another missionary, has been killed by the, Hauhaus, who are on their way to Poverty Bay ready to attack the settlement at Tauraiiga. (Another name for Kereopa's tribe is the Night-marching Ureweras.) While they are talking there is a rattle of musketry, and they can see the Hauhaus tn the Native village. CHAPTER ll.—Anne Caversham comes from England to live at Tauranga with her uncle, Colonel Caversham, officer in charge of the district. One day she is warned by Potaka", a Maori prophetess, to beware of Kereopa’s men, and to wait for a lover in the form of a splendid pakeha. CHAPTER 111. “ That volley was fired into the air/’ said Garden, “ to warn the pa of their approach. They are evidently friendly enough disposed to the natives. If they meant mischief they would have crept upon them in silence. But I am afraid it is only a matter of minutes before they will bo looking for you and your converts, Mr Wilson.” The missionary was staring with wide eyes at the distant village, and seemed to be frozen to the spot with terror, not, to do him justice, upon his own account, but upon that of his wife, who with her child was at the mission station at the river mouth some 500 yards from the village, and must have heard the firing, and knew all too well what it foretold. “My wife! ” he exclaimed, and leaping from the veranda, Wilson set off at a run down the path and in the direction of his house. “ Steady. Wilson! Stop him, CEarlie 1 ” cried Garden. Charlie, in a long stiide, laid a huge, restraining paw on the missionaiv’s shoulder.

(l “ e . nlnst liave a Pl an ,” said Garden. ‘‘Charlie, what horses have you in the stable? ’’

Mark and Tilda, and Mr Manuel’s horse. There is the plough horses, Punch and Judy, too, in the back stall. The hacks and buggy horses is all out on the hill.”

. Then hitch Judy to one of the buggies as quickly as you can. Wilson, you take the buggy and drive down to the river. Charlie, take Punch, he’s the onlv horse up to your weight, go down with Mr Wilson, and bring Mrs Wilson across to him. Then clear out for Tauranea. all of you. Manuel, if you and I «o down to the river opposite the pa, we may be able to create a diversion. If we can delay Kereopa for half an hour Charlie will have Mrs Wilson away.” The trader, at the sound of the first volley, had sprung to his feet with the otheis, but had said nothing, and was watching with calm interest, but without a trace of anxiety, the movement in the pa. Indeed. Garden thought that there was almost a gleam of triumph n the inscrutable black eves. “ Extraordinary chap,” he thought. “ Cool customer.” D “ are yo« going to do about Winnie? ’ asked Manuel. “ By jove, I forgot about Winnie.” (l Her horse is out on the hill paddock. She can have Tilda.” Garden called to Charlie, who with Wilson was hastening down the hill to the stables. ‘‘Charlie, take Tilda for Miss Manuel. Take her with you ‘.o Tauranga.” No time was to be lost. “I’ll get the rifles. Manuel,” he said. nla,y no *" nee( l them if we can hold “ She can haveMl’d.w ness . 234 Kereopa in talk, but I am afraid there is not much doubt that we are more likely to get a bullet than ‘ good-evening ’ for an answer.” So saving, Garden turned into the house and picking up the lamn. went into the room in which he kent his "uns. Almost immediately lie re-apneared with two rifles and a couple of belts of ammunition “ Here vr;u are, Mans’l." he said ; but stopped short in astonishment. Manuel had gone.

Great Scott! The fellow must have gone on. Extraordinary chap,” he thought. However, time was pressing and running down the hill, he set off across the paddock towards the pa. The distance to the river was not great. Some three-quarters of a mile, perhaps; and as Garden neared the bank, he slipped behind odd clumps of scrub, and for the last 100 yards or so carefully kept the stump of a large cabbage palm between himself and the village square. Opposite the pa, Garden’s land ran out 1.0 a , fairly narrow point in the bend of the river, and across the point at a distance of not more than 150 or 200 yards from the meeting-house across the river ran a stop-bank—a ditch and mound which, as part of a scheme of flood prevention. Garden had erected the year liefore. It ran soma half-mile along the river hank. Garden smiled to himself. If I had meant to build a fort instead of a flood-bank, I couldn’t have done it

Michael Storm and Fengus Dunlop.

(Copyright.—Fob the Otago Witness.)

ft New Zealand .Story J

better. A dozen men here could hold an army.”

He lay down upon the bank, and took stock of his surroundings. Across the river the Natives in the pa were plainly visible. The party which had fired the volley and which appeared to number some 40 or 50 men, was evidently in advance of the guard, and as Garden watehed from his ditch the main body of the Natives filed into the square. A motley company they appeared! About half of the number were mounted upon ponies, some with saddle, some without. Laden packhorses appeared to be numerous, but the majority of the “army” were on foot, and clad in the old Maori costume, flax mats and bare legs. The mounted men wore for the most part European dress, and carried i ifles. No order of drill or discipline was observable in their order of march. The mounted men, men on foot, packhorses, and women, many of them bearing burdens, trailed into the village in complete confusion, and crowded round the now blazing fire. “ They don’t mean to stay,” thought Garden. “ They are not unpacking, nor laying aside any of their accoutrements. I suppose they are bound for Tauranga. If 1 could single out Kereopa and pick him off it would save a lot of trouble.” But no one answering to the description of Kereopa was visible. Probably the chiefs were already in the meeting house. The rebels were greeting the villagers in friendly fashion, and a chief was forming a circle and evidently preparing to make a speech. But from the scant attention paid to him, he was evidently a person of little consequence. “ The night-marching Urewera,” said Garden to himself. “It is lucky they haven’t a better discipline. When they catch sight of Cliarlie the fun will begin.” _ He gazed towards the crossing at the river mouth. Across the broad reach of the river the white sands of the beach showed up all too clearly in the moonlight. Nearly half an hour had elapsed since the first volley, and Wilson, with the buggy, and Charlie’s bulky form on the draught horse Punch, might be expected to appear at any moment on the sands. They would be within -distant range of the rebel rifles. The track from the pa to the river mouth and to the mission station showed plainly on the opposite bank. Near the pa it crossed the white face of -a bluff that overhung the stream, and, a mere bridle track, was so narrow that men on foot even could pass along it only in single file. “ I might stop them from crossing the bluff for a bit,” thought' Garden. He looked up the river. The broad sheet of water lay clear in the moonlight, shadowed upon his own side bv overhanging trees. On the Maori side the banks were clear, and at a distance of some 500yds from the canoe landing a white shingle beach gleamed plain and distinct. He could certainly, at that distance and in that light,* make the landing a very unhealthy place for Kereopa’s warriors. “ I wonder what the Duke of Wellington would do. ” thought Garden. “ One rifle against 200. It would be no use saying, ‘ Up, Guards, and at them.’ Still, I have the advantage of position. I wonder if these bight-marching Ureweras are subject to nerves.” He hid himself behind the bank at a spot where tall grasses concealed his head, and gave, very low and quietly, the familiar bird call of the -pukeko, or swamp hen. “ E—ke—-ke,” he called. “ H—be—ke ” came an answer from the marshes down the river, for the pukeko, like the common barnyard cock, is veryready to answer the'■call of his kind at night, and particularly by moonlight. “ E —ke—ke ” he repeated, this time somewhat loudly. The call was answered from distant marshes in all directions, and had attracted some attention at the village, for many of the Natives turned to gaze over the river. There was a general motion in the crowd, and the vanguard'•was preparing to resume the march along the track to the river crossing. “H* ke—ke ” sang Gaiden, this time in a call louder and clearer than the call of any pukeko ever hatched. The effect was instantaneous. Every Native in the pa turned round and gazed in the direction of the sound. All they could see was the placid stream, and a stretch of level paddocks brilliantly lit by the moon. The low embankment, catching the light on the side nearest the pa, was invisible to the Natives. Gar den waited a few minutes. He could See that Hie rebels were engaged in discussion and. argument. They were visibly impressed. . * ’ - “I must not overdo it,” thought Garden. “Once more, I think.”

Again he repeated the cry, this time drawing out the last note into a long falsetto Maori wail, and forming the sound into Kereopa’s name: “ E—ke—ke —kereopa.” z To the Natives’ ears the sound wailing along the bluff sounded eerie in the extreme. Garden marked their confusion, and caught snatches of their talk.

“He keliua!” exclaimed some. “A spirit! ” ' “He tamariki pea!” “Children playing!” cried another. “ Whether you think me a ghost or a child, my lads,” thought Garden, “it will take you time to settle it.” And so it proved. For 10 precious minutes the clatter of Maori tongues raised in argument could be heard. A party was detailed, to investigate, and Garden could see some dozen Natives making down to the canoe-landing. At that very moment, glancing down the river, he saw Charlie plunge into the ford, and at some little distance beyond him, and out of range, the missionary in the four-wheeled buggy. The natives had also caught sight of them and appeared to realise on the instant who they were. A party of the vanguard, led by a stout warrior on horseback, started along the track towards the bluff.

“ Now for the real action,” thought Garden, as he covered the leader with his rifle. “ The man or the horse ? The horse, I think, will be more effective.” The leader reached the bluff, and Garden’s rifle spoke. The horse, shot through the heart, plunged over the bank, and with a resounding crash, man and horse hurtled over the precipice into the river below. At the same time Garden, snatching up the second rifle, took rapid aim up the river to the canoe landing. One of the Natives, badly hit, sent up a scream of agony, and before the echo of the shots had died away, Garden, in stentorian parade ground voice, bawled a command to an imaginary company of rangers. “ Company, cease fire. Hold your fire, men' ”

The effect upon the Natives was magical. The shots and the shout breaking th e silence out of the middle of an apparently empty field were too much for their savage courage, which had already been badly shaken by the mysterious bird call. They fled precipitately to cover, and from behind whares and fences opened a spattering volley upon the cloud of smoke still hanging over the trench at the point from which Garden had fired. Garden, who had in anticipation of their firing at his smoke, moved some 40 paces further up the trench, watched with a grim amusement.

*‘Night - marching Urewera 1 ” he grinned. “ I don’t fjiink you will march much further to-night.” The firing died away, and silence settled down, broken only by snatches of conversation called from man to man among the Natives. The ruse was successful so far. They evidently believed that a whole company lay concealed somewhere on the flat. Watching down the river, Garden saw Charlie cross the ford with Mrs Wilson and the child, and indistinct in the distance a second rider. “ That must be Winnie,” he thought. I doubt if sl> e really need go in such a hurry. After all, she is as much Maori as white.” The party disappeared down the beach. " Thank goodness,” thought Garden, “ the tide is falling. Given an hour’s start, even with the slow horses they should be safe. Kereopa, it’s your next move.” He lit his pipe, and waited. The silence was unbroken, and in the shadow and shine of night he smoked comfortably. The thought of his own danger did not occur to him. Mark was in the stable, and when he felt that Urewera had been held long enough in check, he would creep back to him. Once in the saddle, he knew that the good old horse would easily outdistance any pursuit. But his mind dwelt upon th e future, and his reflections were very gloomy. What of his sheep and cattle ? How could he hope to save them? And Pakarae? In the midst of disturbances and Native uprisings, could he hope to hold it? An hour passed. Suddenly a sound fell on his ear. Someone was rustling through the grass -of the trench not far away. He seized his rifle. A figure loomed in the moonlight 30 yards away. Maori ? or Manuel ? “ Great Scott> "Winnie! What on earth are you doing here? ” CHAPTER IV. The whole settlement of Tauranga was astir. Men were rushing into the open, collarless, pyjama-clad, and gathering in the little square. Anne, aroused by the noise made by her uncle and Captain Clark, hastily flung on some garments, and ran to the square after them to find out what was in the wind. Arrived there, she found the little group eagerly talking and gesticulating. Id the. centre of them stood n buggy containing a woman and child, and rear them two horses and two riders. Bnt first and foremost the group converged upon a huge man with great swinging aims and a beard almost scarlet fringing a rough, scarred face. The man was panting and journey stained, but talking in a wild loud voice. Ins hair almost streaming Jn. ihe wind. The child was quietly crying. '> , ‘‘And Mr Volkner was murdered at his church,” Anne heard the big man say, ’“and Mr Garden, he-said to me ' Charlie, go take Mrs Wilson and the childand fly for vdur life. And you, Mr Wilson, go ,with him ■frhile I stay here and leen the ’au’ans back. I dunno how 111 do it, but I’ll do it somehow,’ ’Elll-do it. too will.-Mr Garden. ’K’s a wonderful. feller, 'e is.;

“ And are they coming in the direction of Tauranga, do you think, Uhailie ? ” asked Colonel Cavershaxn. “ Sure they are, Colonel, it's no mistake. It’s Tauranga they are coming for.’’

Of course they are well armed? ” “ Well armed is right, Colonel. I felt that when the bullets came whistling round my ears.” *‘ And did you make that journey in one night, and cross the ford under fire? You’re a hero, Charlie.” “Mr Garden’s a hero all right. ’Ow he ’oped to hold the ford against so many, I don’t know. And there’s Miss Winnie Manuel with him, stayed with him all night, I suppose. Loves him dearly, that young lady does. Everybody knows it. But Lord ! Mr Garden’s a dark horse, ’e is. ’E’s that good-looking, ’e had a hundred girls afore ’e came here, I’ll be bound.”

“ Stop rambling, Charlie, and get on with the story.” The tawny giant pulled himself up for a moment, and then continued.

“ Begging your pardon, colonel, but I must tell you that Mr Garden said ‘ Ride for your dear life, Charlie,’ ’e said, ‘ and get Mr and Mrs Wilson into safety, and tell them at Tauranga to look out for Kereopa’s band to-morrow and be ready. If the Naughtypoys come to help, you’ll be all right, ’e says. But we’ll give them something to make them sorry they spoke. If I could get my hands on that there Kereopa I’d break every bone in his block body; I would, colonel.” * .

Anne, hanging breathless on Charlie’s words, caught the remembered word, and involuntarily the name sprang to her lips, “ Kereopa.” Again she saw the vast bush, the interlacing creepers, the massive tree trunks, and the beady eyes of the little old woman and her sing-song, melancholy voice. “ Beware Kereopa.” In a rush of almost clairvoyant sensation she saw the bands of brown warriors dancing round the fire at Garden’s station, waving their flaming torches and preparing with a horrid lust for the forthcoming battle. She saw the figure of the man they called Garden of Pakarae, stiaight and limber, crouching now in ambush by the river, and the beautiful dark-eyed Maori girl lying at his feet and gazing at him with eyes of dog-like devotion. She heard in her mind the bullets whistling about their ears in the dusk, and saw the Vikinglike Cliarlie and his little band brave the ford and the pursuit of the savages and the shots of their carbines. She could hear the thundering hoofs of Charlie’s horse pounding the beaches to warn them. Past peaceful, smiling pastures and grazing sheep, past rearing hillsides, melancholy with shadows and distant bush-clad heights, she could picture Charlie tearing on, leading the missionary and his forlorn little wife to comparative safety. She awoke from this inward vision as she heard her uncle’s voice saying: ’• Anne, my dear, take Mrs Wilson and the little girl home and look after them, will you? They’ve had a terrible night. Wilson, you come with me. I’ll fix you up, and * then we’ll have to gather in the settlors and prepare for siege.” Mts Wilson alighted stiffly from the buggy, helping her little girl down after her. " The poor, pale, thin, little woman was completely exhausted with the night’s anxieties and alarms. She went gladly with Anne in search of refreshment and rest, Captain Clark, as usual, in attendance upon Anne, strolled back to the house with them, ostensibly to carry the child for its mother. “ Oh, Miss Caversham,” said Mrs Wilson, “ what a splendid man Mr harden is! How I hope he will escape harm at the hands of the Maoris. It’s such a terrible pity that he gets mixed up with that halfcaste girl as he does. It’s no good to any man, and he’ll simply have to marry her if he is not careful, and what a calamity that would be for any white man, wouldn’t it"? ” “ Of course it is going to be a tragedy here if the white men are going to mate with the coloured race,” said Captain Clark. “ Any country which does that will go to the wall eventually. We have a clean, new country here, and we simply can’t afford to do it. But then we none of us can find out a great deal about Garden: who he is nor what he was before he came to Pakarae.”

“ No,” chimed in Mrs Wilson. “ They call liim ‘ The Mystery Man ’ in these parts. We all know all about one another here, the place is so small, but we don’t know anytliing about Mr Garden. I’m sorry to say he plays poker for very high stakes, more than the worst of our local gamblers can afford.” “ Yes, but he pays his losses without a murmur —losses that none of the rest of us coul.l afford,” interposed Clark. “He o-ace told me that ,n Sydney he earned the sobriquet of " The Chink ” at the gaming tables, because his eyes narrowed like slits when he played, and his face never moved a muscle.” “ Don’t you know where Mr Garden comes from?” inquired Anne, her interest somewhat aroused.

“ No,” was Captain Clark’s reply. “ All we know is that he arrived in Auckland in 1860, five years ago, with drafts on Sydney banks for very considerable sums, two or three horses of th«. world-famous New South Wales racing strains, a few stud sheep and cattle, and a few boxes of luggage which appeared to contain mainly books and guns. His horse, Mark, is a greater celebrity even than Mr Garden. Begad. Miss Anne, that horse! What wouldn’t I give to own him! There isn’t a horse