Australian Tales and Adventures.

Wairarapa Standard, Volume XX, Issue 2026, 4 February 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

Australian Tales and Adventures.

Xo. li, An Episode of New Zealand Life.

By A- C. DONNELLY, *

I have always possessed a peculiar taste for wandering in old grave yards and searching for quaint and carious epitaphs, those brief words which tell so little, and, yet, so much. Concerning those to whom the dead have long “ bid welcome and mo farewell.” A few years ago when on a holiday tour in the north island of New Zealand, I found myself, at the close of a summer day, at the entrance of an old cemetery soma few miles distant from the city of Auckland. The little grave-ysrd had evidently not been used as a burying place for many years. There were no freshly built monuments within the enclosure. The fence, in many places had yielded to the weakness of old age and had fallen to the earth. The suns and rains of succeeding years had almost completely washed and bleached the names from off the front of the few stones that still stood erect. The wind with that sighing sound which it always seems to have in cemeteries, swept round the stones and bent low the long wild grass, that ghastly vegetation which " Groans through gradual hours, Made by sun beams and showers From limbs that moulder.” The faded inscription upon some of the stones dated very many years back, long before the “ war note ” of the European sounded upon the banks of the Kaikato. Many a poor fellow who lost his life in that struggle,euphonical? termed “ The Native Ihl'muUy ” found a resting place here where the sad little miro mito conr.es to ting its mournful song. There is the gravo of a young English lieutenant with a wilderness of wild briars and ‘‘lanzrr” growing over. Poor lad, perhaps ho left his home away in his native moors boastfully tinnouucmg that ho was going to give the ” nig'era ” a lesson. While musing unon the tiossible histories of Moses, whose ashes were here entombed, my attention became arrested by a grave at a little distance. It was almost hidden by a clump of tall blue gums, strangers from over the cea, which now and again dropped a fluffy blossom npon the graves beneath. On approaching this grave my interest was increased by its perfect state of preservation, and by its superiority, if one may use such a terra in reference to the bomes of the dead, to those around. The iron railings had been freshly painted, and the little plat itself was evidently

tended by loving hands. Clusters of white roses and pale golden Marshal Neils hung over the fence and perfumed the air. The tablet itself was of tine grained pure whits Carrara marble. Filled with wonder, for I felt sure that I recognized whose band had sculptured the exquisite wreath of •/ww tiilc.i upon the front of the stone. I stooped down to read the initials upon the bottom of the slab. I was right. They were the initials of a man in whose studio I had spent many an hour four years ago in Genoa, and whose smallest work cost almost a fabulous sura. I was so much interested in the exquisite beauty of the sculpture that for soma moments I for-

got to read the name of the person over whose remains this beautiful and expensive tribute was erected. MARION VERB. AETAI 18. DIED 1 853. Such was the brief information which her grave stone conveyed. “It is a pretty name ” I thought. “ I wonder what romance attaches to it, for I am sure them is one." I must unconsciously have uttered my thoughts aloud, for they were immediately and most unexpectedly answered. II You are tight, there is a history attached to the girl whose name you have just read.” Considerably startled I turned round to discover in my informant a white haired old lady, the widow of a missionary, to whom I had been introduced the evening before at the house of a lady friend. “ You were admiring the stone," she said. “A great many people do that.” “Yes,” I replied, “and my interest is increased by recognizing the work of a great artist in that sculptured wreath,"

“ A wonderful stone I suppose you would Bay to erect over the remains of a girl, born and bred in a New Zealand forest." " It is very beautiful,” I said.

“ Yes, it was sent from Italy by her step brother, one of the wealthiest men in England.” “You knew her ?” "Yes, I knew her and loved her dearly. For thirty years she has lain there, and scarcely a day has passed in which I have not visited her grave.” “1 would like muoh to hear her story. If you will tell it to me, believe me you will find an attentive listener, that is," 1 added, “ if there is no breach of confidence involved.” “Oh no, there is not,” she replied. “ The story was well known in Auckland thirty years ago, but I suppose it has died out with the old generation. That is my house over there, if you come to me in half an hour I will tell you the history of Marion Vere. It is a sad one.” Punctually at the appointed time I was at Mrs. Austin’s house. Leading me into her old fashioned drawing-room she pointed to a picture in an oval frame saying “There you see, but very imperfectly, the face of Marion Vere. It was painted from memory by my husband shortly after she died.” It was indeed a beautiful girl’s face that looked with wistful pathetic eyes from out of the frame. “ That yon may properly understand my story,” she began, “ I will tell you first of my last night in England. My father was a missionary clergyman on his way to New South Wales. This night, our last in Eng. land, was spent in Bristol, in which city we were obliged to remain a week owing to some delay in the departure of our ship. We stayed in a large hotel in whioh there were a great many visitors at the time. I remember, even now, the big wide stone steps which led up to the door, and two Indiana grotesque faun’s heads which grinned above it. Among those staying in the hotel, I had frequently noticed a very tall aristocratic lady with a very beautiful but cold looking lace. Her skin was like soft creamy satin, and her long white graceful neck reminded me of the swans which we had left at home, Her hair was auburn, or as some would call it, red. Whichever it was, it looked boauti.

ful curled in rings and tufts above the smooth white brow. She always wore rich trailing dresses, which added to the grace ot her figure and the fairness of her skin, and her hands which were small and white, and exquisitely formed were covered with flashing rings. She was accompanied only by her maid andher little son, andan odd,quaint, beautiful little figure he was too. His face was a perfect fao-simile of his mother’s; the same deep blue eyes, straight perfect (ireecian nose, pearl-like skin and high bred air. Whatever doubt there was about the shade of his mother’s air, there was none whatever about bis. It was unmistakably red, but this

only served to make his high while forehead look all the whiter and more dazzling. Ho was much older than 1, but the oldfashioned manner in which he was dressed gave him the appearance of being much older than be really was. ila looked in bis blue velvet clothes and elaborate lace rcfllw, like some quer little minalure of an Elizri ethan courtier, that had stepped out of a frame.

O ir rooms was on the same floor as tho lady’s, and I, after (he manner of children, soon made friends with the little fellow. Victor, he said his name was, but he was very shy and spoke little. On the evening of which I speak, I bad been all the afternoon playing with tho boy in his mother’s Bitting room, reviewing his ’.oldicra and building houses, and making up for hia shy silence by telling sII sorts of imaginary stories about the new laud to which I was going.

His mother seemed preoccupied and excited all tiio day and kept rising and going to the window and restlessly pacing backwards and forwards through tiro room, nervously toying with the ornaments upon tho mantlepiece, and ever and always glancing at the clock. Ones or twise she started up as if with the intention of going out, then suddenly changed her mind and throwing oil her fur wrap.- 1 , took up some work from the tab’e beside her, only to lay it down again and resume the restless moving about the room.

It must have been after live o'clock I suppose, for it was a winter's evening and the lamps had been lit some time, when a hurried knock came to the door. Victor ran to open it while his mother started up, her hand grasping the back of the chair, her pale face growing paler, her blue eyes eager and expectant, but with a kind of fear ia them.

The door opened and a tel! dark gentleman entered. Victor clasped his hands joyfully and danced around him crying gleefully. “ Oh, Unde George, let mo feel in your pockets myself.” ” Not to-night my little man,” came the answer sadly, yen would oniy find them empty, Unde George has forgotten Victor to-day.”

“Well.” Tho single word ran out sharp, clear and impatient.

lie paused a moment before answering her as if the words would not come.

“ It is all over Lady Clarice,'’ hn answered sighing heavily. “All that intellect could do has neon done to save him, but without avail." “ What is the sentence ?” she asked in a scarcely audible voice. “ Transportation for life, and ho is the first man in England found guilty of forgery and not sentenced to death.” “My God," she burst out passionately, “lam the wife, and my son is the child of a convict.” “Hush,” he said, do not lot his wife be the first to apply the degrading term to him. Poor fellow, Heaven knows Lady Clarice what a terrible doom is before him, and better death a thousand times. The world will be ready enough to condemn him, but you, at least, will be pitiful, you ore his wife.” “ Yes,” she replied bitterly, “ and ” stretching forthjthe hand on which shone her wedding ring, " I would sever this hand from my wrist if thus I could canced the disgraceful bond.”

to a bill for a large sum of money, and the forged signature was in the handwriting of Francs Vore. He himself isc.if d Git occasa-

ticn, lot cau’d clue in c;;-ji.'.na;icu, and a prlsosctM unsupported statement seldom gains much cre'ence. It trar.epired. and told as a point r-gainst him, that he had been speculating rather wildly in soma bogus companic?.. However, this circumstance did not supply a reasonable motive, for iha credit of Ui: firm was almost unlimited. It v, v) fue, as his brother had said, all that wealth could do ! v ;d been done to save him, but without sccetsa. A bar of tho ablest lawyers in Keglaud defended him. Tim address of his coanid, was a masterpiece of eFq'ifr.co, impassive pleading and phusifalo reasoning. It did net vain the acquittal of (ho client, bu il mads Hie advocate sown i ame famous. In hi address to tho jury, he dwelt s'rongly upon tho absurdity of n man in Franks Vere's position who, even if ho were temporarily embarrassed could easily raise money, rceorling to the dangerous and foolish expedient of forgery. Such however was not the cise. As his brother’s partner ho could lay bis hand upon bah a million of money bad he required it. In glowing colors ho painted tho intellectual attainments of his client, his well known pbih’itiitophy, hie social standing, bis unstained and honorable tame, his domestic tics, “ the husband of one of the fairest r.nd most nobly descended women in England." Tima he depicted the consequences that would follow conviction, the heartbroken dispairing, wido.ved wife, the ruinedhome, thedishonersd name, tho blighted life, the martyrdom that awaited a refined man condemned to the association of vile criminals in a penal eclosiy. He concluded by solemnly declaring his own belief in the innocence of Francis Vere, and entreated every man upon (bo jury to remember his own home, his wife and little children, his own pride in an unstained name, and to set Francis Vere at liberty to return to his family. "Think gentlemen ” he cried in ringing tones, " what the brain of the fellon is, think how it burns, not into the flesh, but iutothesoulof a semdtive high bred man, end pause before you stamp upon the soul of a fellow man that awful, that hidious, that nde’.iablo brand that can never be erased.” It was nil in vain. Amid breathless silence the fatal verdict was recorded, which blotted out, as one would rub pencil marks from a slate, all the man’s past and honorable career and condemned him to begin life anew, a hopeless dispairing outcast, shut out for ever from the companionship of honest men. The trial created a great sensation, not only in Bristol, but throughout England. In all circles nothing else was spoken of. It was discussed with equal interest in fashionable London salons and in unfashionable back attics. In aristocratic London clubs and in plcbian London taverns. Some pronounced it “ a hidious mistake,’ and talked of petitioning the King. Other called it a mystery. Many whispered that there was “ a woman in the case,” more murmured “ gambling." A few democratic papers found food for articles upon “ crime among the upper classes.” In all grades, however, there were few persons who did not feel tamely suiry for the fate that had befallen the unhappy man, for ho had been always free handed and generous, aud as a natural result popular. All that morning I lingered about the stairs and lauding hoping to see poor little Victor, again, in whom 1 then felt a deepened interest. I was, before wo left, informed by a chambermaid, that tho boy usd departed laie the preceding night with Lady Clarice. In tha early morning as wo passed through the streets of Bristol, tho news boys met us at every corner with the same cry of tho escape of the great Bristol forger, or as some of them varied it, the 11 B-.iatol Canker" Francis Vere.

“Do not be so unwomanly, do not be so cruel. Heaven knows fate is cruel enough even if ho were a guilty man which I am as sure as the sun shines in the Heavens he is not. His wotk was always to be relied upon. Poor Frank, even an a child his word was ever true. God only knows how this business has come about, but I believe him innocent. His last word to-day, and ho declared if it were his last upon earth it would be tbo same was a protestation of his innocence.” “ Well, it is not likely,” she replied coldly “ that ho would protest anything else. It would have been much more to the point if he had proven it, however." “ I think you forget that he is your husband.”

Eo you eeo ray last recollection of England is inseparably associated with the name and crime of Francis Verc. When wo arrived on board of the ship which was to bear us away from old scenes and associations we found the detectives on board instituting a close search for the escaped banker. Hut they did not find him there or elsewhere. Ilia escape had evidently b:ca carefully planned in the event of conviction and daringly and successfully can : td out. lla was never retaken, lie disappeared as completely as if the grave had ifos.d over him and years and years passed away, before I heard that name again.

“I do not forget it,” she cried. “ I wish I could. It is a proud position truly. A grand exchange I made when I resigned my old name, for one which in half au hour will be shouted by every dirty news boy through every street in Bristol. What shall I do, what shall I do to get rid of the disgrace ?” And overcome by her feelings, whioh seemed to me, child as i was, most selfish and heartless and unnatural. She burst into a passionate fit of weeping, and flung herself upon the sofa with her face buried in the cushions.

When my life again touched that of Francis Vcre I was far away from England, living the lonely Ufa of a misHmtaty's wife at a lonely Mission Station in New V, a’and. When I first came to our will hm by the wide New Zealand river I trembled at the eight of every dark face, and shuddered with a kind of sickening dread at the sight of a pair of dark eyes piercing through a leafy thicket. Hut this feeling soon wore cdf. The natives were kind and hospitable, and the children so tractable and decile, that 1 scon began ;o iovo them very much. In after years, though dear friends of my own foil in the strug do between the races, I was never r-b!e, with the memory of many a kind deed done by a Maori hand, to entertain any feeling towards the Maori race save a kindly one. Betides, one could not help, to some extent, sympathising with the Maorics in their efforts to prevent the white people from becoming their oonqaorcrs. They knew with prephetio instinct, for the Maori intellect is keen and the Maori wit sharp, what the supremacy of the white race meant. They realised when too late that the smooth tongued people who had coma across the sea to Christianize the heathen meant to stay and grab their lond, land winch had been drawn up by their great ancestors from the sea, their beautiful land which had belonged to them in that distant hazy past, when their ancestors were gods. They daily beheld their heritage being surely wrested from them, they saw their dark pine woods being cut down or in flames, and soon they heard their women weeping over straight limbed keen eyed chieftains whom the while man's gun had slain. What wonder that they should retaliate, that they should light for their lives, their land, and their homos. In thus fighting many a Maori’s heart was stifled in pah or wood, as brave, as patriotic, and ns true heroic as any heart whose blood ever dyed, in olden days the sands of Greece. No wonder that their instincts caused them to fear u?, we are only about forty years firmly planted in New Zealand, and already the Maori race, like the vieka and kakapo, are passing away. In anotficr century or so we, will) our civilization, | will have done for the Maori race what the j Norway rodent did for the New Zealand rat. . The Maori from New Zealand will never j sketch the ruins of St. Paul's, but the future j scientist from England coming to New Zea- [ lond to study the Maori will find only his ; bleaching bones embedded in the sand like j tho gum in extinct Kauri forests, or scattered about in caves like the bones of the raoa. To 1 mo there always seems comething inexpree- j sibly sad in this dying away of a brave race. It is always so. Wherever we set our feet tho ; aboriginal race dies away. The Indians in America, the Weeks in Australia, and tho Maoriea in Now Zealand, Do you not think, as a humanitarian, that this wholesale sacrifice of people is a phase so mournfully sad in : the spread of civilization as to almost outweigh all the glory and conquest and all the advantages of gain. It may be true that every change upon this earth is bought with sacrifice, but we pay a heavy price for our progress when wo widen the path, along which we march onward with the life blood of race after race of human beings. We had been about a week in our New Zealand home, here among the beautiful green woods, when though rather frightened at the sight of the smoke wreathing upward from the native ovens in the bush and upon the open plains beyond, I determined to explore a little iu the vicinity of our home. Yentur-

“ Uncle George,” as Victor called him, seeming at length to become conscious of tho fact that it was not a scene whioh children should witness, rang for Lady Clarice’s maid to taka Victor to bed, and me to my mother. The little lad with his old fashioned courtesy, insisted tipou seeing me to my own door. There he bade me good night, and overcome by a resistless impulse, I stopped and kissed him. “ Good-night Victor ” I said. “ I will oorae and bid you good-bye to-morrow,” but I never saw him again. Though years and years have passed away I still retain a vivid recollection of the laic skinned selfish lady and her old fashioned courtly little son. Soon after, I was sent to bed in order to be awake early for tho next day’s start upon our long journey. After laying my head upon my pillow, I rose up to ask my mother, who was moving about tho room, was forgery something wicked. “Yea dear” she answered “ very wicked.” Go to sleep now you must be awake early for to morrow’s journey. Stay, “ she added come and look out at the moon shining upon the water, perhaps we shall never see her shine again in England."

“ Are you sorry I said, slipping out of bed and going to her side.” “ Not quite sorry ” she answered, “but inexpressibly sad I feel as if I were leaving half my life behind me in leaving the grand old land with its glorious past, which tome will always be truly Home.’’ Looking up into her face I saw that her eyes were wet and shining and her tears falling upon the deep stone sill.

I could not understand why my mother should bo sorry to leave England, because I enjoyed the excitement and bustle, and rather liked being made much of and pitied as a poor child going out to a strange land where black people and white people were alike considered savages.

As we stood gazing out at the gleaming lights of the city, and anticipating the vapor rising like incense from tho river towards tho ctlm moon on her white cloudy throne, wa were startlod by a voice crying in a shrill treble in the street below.

“ JirisfiiL Timr-t, Full account of tho trial and conviction of tho great Bristol forger Francis Vorc.”

“;damma”t whispered. “Victor is his little boy.” Yes,” slid replied, pityingly, " poor little lad, go to bod now ray child.” All night long the words of tho newsboy kept ringing in my ear. When 1 awoke in the morning, 1 fancied I v/ai dreaming slid, lot the same cry was being repeated, but now it was supplemented. This time tho boy was shouting—“ Trial conviction, and escape of Francis Vere.” I breathed on earnest prayer that for Victor’s sake the “ forger ” might get safely away. This man whoso u&mo ana cr*mo suddenly became a thame in all men's mouths, had stepped almost from a palace to a cell. Ho was tho partner and younger brother ot the head of one of tiro oldest banking tirms in England, and was supposed to possess almost unbounded wealth. Her.oo it was that his crime seemed so inexplicable. Tho offence had been clearly proved however. Tho signature of a well known merchant was forged

in,-; through tin- wood and for the lirat time beholding t>*c wander* and glories of a Now /efd:it d foicst, marvelling at the beauty of tut graceful palms and ferns, and the climbmg and c!i;ving nrege'iM'.ici of the “ supple i’Ji,,” whhh bolauLtWigniiy, whh an uupo- *•!!;; nan;.?. 1 found myself scon upon tU bt-ui; oi the river. I c-;.t down wg.h my hand'* full oi Lin iinmU their beautiful colors and gi :i! :Eul oa* line, and labelling to (hj; mocking voices of the taU as they hopped about anions the branches of the rater trees behind inr.

I was thinking longingly of ray friends in Sydney, and hep nnii'g to fed rather lonely when t was startled 1-y a soft cooing kind of voles, sc;, dog iu excellent English, quite cloea to me “ Good evening."

Springing to my lost I turned round terribly alarmed at b'drg addressed in this lonely place. I could not see anyone. Then tho same voice spoke again. " Look down here.”

Looking in the direct'd! from which the voice (.uprated to come. I bib. Id in a tiny bay in the tivvt at tie bick of where 1 had been Billing, a young girl in a Maori cancv. 1 stool amav.cJ, daring at the grotesque figure head of the canoe, with its horrible oistended eyes, erect hair, and hideous protruding tongue, :.r.d at the a'.range figure in it. The giil whom lat once saw by her light skin, was a had ca-tc. and a very beautiful one, was clad in half Maori, half European fashion, that added considerably to the pitturn quo i licet of her appearance, ilordteeg wh ; c:i was a hind cf compromise between civilised and savage, was rutiicr short, and of some soft woollen material, properly ornamented with tiny feathers of every hue. These were put on with comamato art, looking almost like a Kaiopean lady's embroidery in colored silks, liver her shoulders she wore a Maori mat, made entirely o' the beautiful glcs sy skin so! tho hui i. A little round cap made of tie skin of the same bird, with some of the grac< fully curved tail feathers ct quettLhly stuck s’, the side, rested upon her black hair which was Lug, abundant, and glossy. She appeared to bo shout sixteen years cfage, with a fi.mru as straight as the item of a Kauri. Jlt i kin was net darker than an Italian or .Spanish womat.V. Her eyes were large, b!»ck. and b.nlicus, with that peculiar tinge in tl.ci, - whins whiili i.lmttsl always denote!! a mixed origin. Ev«n in that first moment c f meeting her I noticed thepcculi.iily mournful and pathetic expression of her eyes, tin: expression which yen observe incyc.g that you ah.: ays fh'vribo as haunting you. I stood looking ;.t the strange but beautiful apparition, unable to utter a word until sbe asked in a plaintive, re.-rojchful tone—- “ May 1 not come up?” "Oh, certainly,” fianrA-red, recovering my halt suspended consciousness, and hastening down to meet her. " I’icvic pardon my apparent rudeness, but I was so much surnrised."

In a moment she was at my side, fating, with a hall wild shy grace of manner—" I should like to be lrici.dn with you. You arc Mrs. Austin, 1 know. We heard you had arrived, and I was going up to see you. lam Marion Graham. We live over beyond those trees, just be-idc the fom.-t. it looks close from here, but it is nearly a mile away.” " I shall be very glad indeed.” I said, “ f:r such a friend in this wilderness. I think God mutt have sent you to me, for 1 was feeling very lonely." Hava you not any babies ? ’ "No, I said. 1 have no bali•■a."

"Ah. lam sorry for that. 1 never saw a white baby, but. perhaps, you have got some books?"

•‘Yea I have got soma bocks," I raid, she gave a happy kind of a sigh at this and her eyes beamed. “ With pictures ?” she q-.teri'd.

“ Vcs with pictures. Yon like reading?" I said this somewhat doubtfully, and she caught the infection and understood it for she answered quickly. "You udak I cannot? but I can, ray father has taught me a groat many thing*. You will come and see him will you not. Ho is very lonely.” “ I will come to sen him gladly. And your mother is she not living V"

“ My mother is dead," the answered gravely. "My mother was lianei, the dmghb-r of Atemai," she said this as proudly as a European lady might say “My nether was a Colonna.” “ Atemai was a great chief or.ee,” she went on. All the land that yon can s 0 for miles and miles, and much more belonged to him once, but ho ;o't it ail in wars with other tribes. Ha is dead now. Hois buried ovir on that hill there and he has a beautiful tomb all carved and painted with red. " lird issarrrd to chiefs, slaves must never wear that colour.” To be continued.

Flatter not thy - if in thy faith i .i;,h|, tftia.ii wan:.'si rhmily h.r 11 1 yin r: and think uni 11n >11 rhanlv 1 w thy neighbor if t)>»u wanli-u liith I. tt h-n they arc nut both ( evili t they ore 1 1 •( ■ 1 wanting; they are both dead if nr.ee divided. The .’Himnuy of Scsoslris. Arao>’g b> f.r'smrd wrap) in:'-! il .rases lav, S)i, slit turn, ihe wr.'i>:t r w with oat pt 1 ' ; Til- j • > l-holr-: v.vre in his rounded ea'«, His thick Iq-. c'.'vul above th’ unbalmus clay, Unpre:d h>l iunica iiie white locks an.bcrpray, And 01; Ids puH—;nt chin fresh from the sin ars The thin hair gleamed which full three thousand yea' J Of carders (deep con! I never disarray. Hand l hc.'via-a'ai'ii 1 ncroas ids ampin bread Were laid in peace ; bat though the narrow eyes Flamed tires no more beneath the forward brow, His keen hawk nose such pride, such power expensed Near Kadesh stream we heard the Hittito cries, And saw by Hebrew toil San's temple cities grow. 11. 1), 1! I '(•< j, ;:i. the " Aouilnnj.”

Lord Daudolpli Churchill is the youngest leader that thu House ot Ceramcm has had since the days of Pitt, who first accepted the post at the age of twenty-time. Peel was called to the eame responsibility at forty, Hassell at forty-two, Disraeli at fortyseven, Palmerston at seventy. Happily the nation is untettcrcdjby aay|hard-and fast rale of age in re s pect to snob appointments. Had Lord Uandolph been a citizen of Ucpuhlican Home ha must have waited another six years to be legally eligible for the consulship. Under the French Constitution of IB7d he could not bo chosen a senator for three years to come. On the other hand, he has added two years to the thirty five which an American must have lived before he can hold the Presidency of the United Stales. No doubt a majority of the men who have made history had show n the measure of their capacity at thirty-seven. Ifieraarck was just thirty-six when he became Minister at Frankfort and his aggressive personality began to assert itself, (lambetta entered on his thirty-third year the acknowledged dictator ot France outside Paris. Oordon bad justj completed his third dicadc of hi* life when ho assumed tho command of the evervieforioua" army. 509