WAITOHI.

New Zealand Graphic, 25 December 1899, Page 17

WAITOHI.

WW CHAPTER I. r§« "W" 4k |Ef AITOHI was a beautiful maiden. B A / ®2 A princess by right of the Waib/b/ nH kawa and Wairau tribes. When _&® W W she was grown up she was beSif3 g2 frothed by her father—a great fi&ht' n f= chief—and the tohungas ' °* ' ler tr '^ e > to Kuiti, another great fighting chief, of Waka Kk marina. There was great reel fl O joicing over the betrothal, and a C, 7®V) big eas *- was h e 'd at Waikawa. Then Kuiti went back to his tribe, and Kohere — Waitohi’s father —sent off canoes in all directions to invite all the friendly tribes front both islands to the great feast of his daughter’s marriage, which was to take place in six moons from the time of betrothal. In six months, what may not happen ? As yet the dominant white race had not over-run New Zealand, and as regards Queen Charlotte Sound, Tory Channel, and Port Underwood, only whalers had ever been seen there, and most of them were not of a sort to raise any commotion in Maori maidens’ bosoms. It was reserved for the whaler Mary Ann to do something out of the common, and for her captain to be the cause of many koreros among the Maoris, and for her chief mate, Roger Carew, to make a Maori maiden forswear her betrothal, forsake her people and her country, and follow a pakeha to the other side of the wide world.

Captain Brown, of the whaler Mary Ann. was ambitious. Tie was not content with a tidy fortune safely stowed away in the stronghold of the Bank of Sydney, but he wanted also to make a great name for himself by finding a passage—which he was quite sure existed —through from the head of Queen Chai •

lotte Sound out somewhere on the other side of the South Island. Mrs. Captain Brown, whom Captain Brown always called “ Mary Hann," was still more ambitious than her husband. She always sailed with him, and spent all her spare time in making up silk dresses, ami trimming bonnets for the time when they retired from the sea, and entered Sydney society. She wore a silk gown, and coalscuttle bonnet every Sunday while at sea, and Captain Brown read a short service to keep himself and his crew, his ship, and his wife in touch with Christianity during the long stretches of time when they were necessarily absent from civilisation. So to find this passage. Captain Brown had sailed his ship where never a ship had sailed before up the beautiful Sound, past many fortified promontories and islands, till he came to a good anchorage outside a deep bay. partly divided by a small island. There he anchored the Mary Ann, and every day he and his wife, with eight strong pullers in the largest whaleboat. searched every deep bay for a passage either into the Pelorus Sound or through to the West Coast on the other side of the island.

Roger Carew was left in charge of the ship, and Mrs. Brown’s dresses. with strict orders not to allow any Maoris aboard, or any rats into the old oak chests which contained the gowns. Thus it was that he met Waitohi. Life was far too monotonous which was all spent in chasing rats, so he varied it a little by going ashore for the purpose of supplying the ship’s company with game, with which the bush was simply teeming, and one day. as he lay stretched out under a karaka tree waiting for the boat to come off for him. something happened, and there was no longer monotony during those long days when the captain and his Mary Hann were away seeking for life-long fame and glory in the deep inlets and bays of the Sound.

He had closed his eyes, and he saw in a brain vision a fine old English homestead. His father and mother, with their stately manners, and his priggish elder brother, heir to the estate, his other two brothers, one on the high way to a bishopric, and the other a shining light in diplomacy. His sister, wedded to an illustrious but venerable duke. He saw the great park, and the gardens, and the fountains, and a pale little girl feeding the goldfish, whom he had promised never to forget. And he saw himself, cast out—as it were —from that home to fight for himself, with never a hope of winning that fair girl who was waiting so patiently —he was sure of that—for him at home. He drew in a long breath. He had about six hundred pounds in the bank at Sydney. “ Just about enough to buy her a ring.” he said, with a little laugh, which was half a sob, and then he opened his eyes with the feeling that he was not alone. A brown, smiling face was peering at him between the fronds

SECOND PRIZE STORY. Written k?y c pieton. tak-u of a black-stemmed fern tree. Koger smiled, and beckoned, and Waitohi, in the full native dress of :> chief's daughter, and with a wreath of bush clematis in her hair, stood before him. After that they met every day. Roger Carew forgot—or seemed to forget—the Molly of his boyish love, and Waitohi, in this new and entrancing love for a pakeha, forgot Kuiti, and the fast-fleeting moons. If she ever did remember her Maori lover, it was with a shudder of repulsion, and a feeling that rather would she wander away into the dense bush, and be lost like her little cousin Turanio was lost many moons before, than wed Kuiti, who was a friend of Rttaparaha, and a cannibal. At first she and Roger met on the beach, but after wards their trysting-place was the little island which was covered with maikaikai, koromiko. and poroporo. There was no monotony in the hours spent there. It was a time of sunshine, brightness, and love. When the shades of evening began to close in over the hills, Waitohi would paddle .shorewards—for Taipo,” the Prince of Darkness, ruled everything in the night—and Roger would pull back to the ship to meet Captain Brown, and listen to the story of another failure, and the programme for the next day’s search for fame and Columbian glory. And all night in his dreams Roger would see the poroporo blossom, which always reminded him of Molly Clare’s eyes. And in the morning he would decide to remain on board all day, but in the after noon the blue eyes would be forgotten, ami he sat on the island gazing into Waitohi's brown orbs.

CHATTER 11. Roger Carew sat on the very top of the island, whence he could see every approach to it. Earlier in the day he had seen from the ship two war-canoes, which came from the direction of the head of the Sound. They had turned the point ami steered direct for the bay. Long before the canoes reached the shore. Roger could hear quite distinctly the haka dances, and cries of welcome, and he knew without being told that the hoary-headed chief of the Wakantarina had come for his bride, and that unless he could prevail upon Waitohi to go with him that very night he must lose her. He knew that her sorrow at parting would be greater than his. He was trained to hardship and sorrow, but Waitohi’s life had been hitherto like one long summer’s day—cloudless and free from storm. He wished he had never seen her, that he had never come to cloud her young life. Her child-like faith in. and devotion to, her pakeha lover had roused all Roger’s chivalry, ami last night he had made a clean breast of it to Captain Brown and his wife, assuring them that he did not intend to desert Waitohi. “ It’s a bad business. Roger,” said Captain Brown. “ but Mary Hann an’ me has come to the conclusion as there hain’t no houtlet on this ’ere side on the Sound, an' that Columbus an' Captain Cook atwecn ’em ’as worked out the charts all right, so we’ve decided to attire from the sea an’ enter politics, an’ Mary Hann society, wich we ’as a right to. seein' as our money’s made honourable.” "An', Roger." said Mrs. Captain Brown, "if you

escort Waitohi to my perfection, I'll be a mother to you both, an’ she shall wear some o’ my gowns, an’ the lilac silk to be married in, an’ that bonnet with the French flowers, an’ purple ribbing, as I were keepin’ by for dinin’ with the Governor an’ Governess.”

Roger thought of Waitohi as he saw her first, and many times since, with the clematis in her hair, and he smiled at the idea of the same face in a coal-scuttle bonnet, with a wreath of French roses round it. But, all the same, he was thankful to his kind friends for their offer, and resolved to save Waitohi from her fierce old lover.

The ship’s sails were loosened out all ready to let go, and all day preparations were made on board the whaler for going out to sea. The shadows of night were stealing over the lake-like Sound, but Waitohi for the first time had failed to keep her tryst. Every sound from the shore was carried across the water to Roger on the island, the cry of the weka, the barking of dogs, and, above all, the shrill voices of the women crying out, “Waitohi, a-Waitohi ! Haere mai Waitohi 1 ”

It was evident, then, that Waitohi was not at the pah. and. if not there, where was she ?

Surely not au ay in that burning bush behind the pah, the Hames of which were roaring, and lighting up with weirdly shades of brilliancy the hills, surrounding the bay. Roger could see the pah, and the Maoris running about within the palisade, but though he looked long and earnestly. Waitohi was not among them, and then, above all the din of sudden flight—for some of the raupo whares had caught fire, and the whole pah was threatened —arose the wailing cry, “ Waitohi, a-Waitohi. Ilae-c-temai.”

Another such a cry, and Roger felt he must hasten to seek for Waitohi himself, but ere he could make up his mind to disregard her strict injunctions never to land in the .<ay, a rustling among the bushes startled him, and in another moment Waitohi was in bis arms, and he was echoing in tones loving enough to satisfy anyone, the cry of her people, on the shore, “ Waitohi, a-Waitohi.” The Maori girl clutched her lover and drew him

into the shade of the poroporo bushes, for the glare of the blazing whares lit up the island like the light of day. And there she told him how her people had watched her since Kuiti’s arrival, and that she herself had set fire to the bush so that she might escape from them before to-morrow. To-morrow she would be handed over to Kuiti.

But to-morrow, when the sun rose, Waitohi was on board the whaler Mary Ann, sailing out of the north entrance, and the Maoris at the other end of the Sound were weaving green garlands for their heads, and crying out to the burning trees, and black desolation. “ Waitohi is dead ! Waitohi is burnt.”

CHAPTER 111. There bad been a dreadful coach accident in England. when a bishop, an attache, and the heir to the House of Turbition were ignominiously capsized into a rushing torrent, and all three drowned. They were on their way to spend Christmas with the old folk at the family seat, whither their wives and sundry daughters had gone a fortnight before. There was

never a son in either of the three families, and the estates >Wng strictly entailed, tne old squire tore iiis hair and actuauy wept, more because the estate might go to a distant branch, rather than for the loss of his three sons. There was still another son—the black sheep of the family, but nothing had been heard of him for fifteen years, and he only lived in the memory of his mother, and maybe in the memory of Miss Mary Clare, of Claremont.

“ Gad ! ” said the squire, “ but it is hard lines. By Gad it is.” He said this over and over again, till his wife, who had never ceased fretting over the transportation—as she called it—of her Benjamin, ventured to suggest that Roger might still be alive. “ Gad, and so he might ! Send for Wilkins, and be quick about it.” And when Wilkins rode up from the village, the squire said. “ Find him, Wilkins, and be quick about it,” as if he was setting his dog on to find a rabbit.

Wilkins did his best, urged thereto privately by Mrs. Carew and Miss Mary Clare, and one day a gentleman, sitting in the wide verandah of a cottage in the suburbs of Sydney, came across an advertisement in the “ Sydney Chronicle,” stating that anyone giving any information of the whereabouts of Roger Carew, of Turbiton, England, would be handsomely re warded. “ Let it go,” said Roger, “ I was turned adrift, and what w’ould she do in a home like that. If Waitohi and I had never met —then, perhaps—” and Roger Carew once more fell into a day-dream, and his thoughts strayed, as the thoughts of most men do stray—though the wives of their bosoms know it not —to a fair, blue-eyed girl, and he saw himself, and a woman who was not Waitohi, wandering hand ir hand in the grounds at Turbiton. Then he thought of Waitohi, as he knew her first, in her Maori dress, and of the night when he took hei on board the whaler, and she handed over to him a whole kitful of yellow stones. “ I found them myself,” she said, “ up in the Wakamarina among the big rocks and roots.” Those yellow stones were pure gold, and they had made him rich. But not more pure w'ere they than Waitohi herself, and he was rich

indeed in her love. He thought of the quaint brick church in Sydney, where he had vowed to love, and to cherish her, and he thought of his two boys, away just then at school in the city, clever and good boys, worthy to fill any position, and he suddenly called out, “ Waitohi, a-Waitohi.” as he always called out for her since he heard her people in Waikawa call her thus. ’’ Let us go to Captain Brown and Mary Anna. They will tell us what to do,” said Waitohi. when Roger explained about the advertisement, and the paragraph explaining the need of his presence in England. Both Captain Brown and his wife urged Roger to claim his rights. “ There’s the dear boys to think on,” said Mrs. Browm, “ an’ some day me an’ the capting’ll pay a visit to England, an’ see you all again. I ’ave to acknowledge as I’m disserpinted with Sydney manners, wich they ain’t got none, an’

the Governor, an' Governess with sich ’igh hairs. Well, no matter, the capting an' me suspires to a 'igher spear, an we’ll pay you a visit wen you settles down in your castle 'all." Waitohi was hardly satisfied even then. Ten years m Sydney had taught her more things than Roger was aware of. She knew that she was disqualified by racial prejudices from entering even the best Sydney society. What would it be, then, in an old country like England ? It was very hard, but there was only one thing to be done under the circumstances. She would not stand in the way of Roger and the boys. They should go away to England, am! she would stay on with those kind friends of theirs. Captain and Mrs. Brown. Sometimes letters would come, and she would be content. No, she could never even look back again at Aoatea. Ten years with Roger had unfitted her for that sort of life for

But Roger only' smiled at her fancies, as he called them. •' We go together, dear.” he said, “or not at all. And what would your boys do without you, I should like to know ? England is not like Sydney. You will he a princess there.” So he wrote to Wilkins a short, curt letter, merely saving that he was coming home by the next ship that sailed from Sydney, and never a word of Waitohi or the two boys.

And the old squire made preparations to receive his son with as much consideration as if* he had merely been away to see the world on an educational tour, and Mrs. Carew talked to Mary Clare by the hour together of what they would do when Roger came back. The idea of Roger being married, or that there was anyone at the antipodes he might wish to marry, never for one moment entered their heads. And Mary Clare, who was Molly still in Roger's inward consciousness, went about with a new brightness in her eyes, singing snatches of the old songs she used to sing before ever Roger went to sea. CHAPTER IV. When the news came to Turbiton that Roger had arrived in England, and was coming home at once, the squire made preparations to kill the fatted calf.

and all the county families for miles around were invited to welcome the traveller home. Triumphal ’ arches were erected, and bonfires were set ready to start into a blaze, and the tenants took a holiday to welcome the young master home again. Roger would fain have shirked the whole business, and he wished now in his heart that he had prepared ■ his people for Waitohi. Wilkins’ look of utter dis- !, may was but a slight taste of what might be in store gj for them, and it was not only his own people, but the ■ whole county he had to face, front Wilkins' account. Roger saw his mother, and a fair woman by lie-

side, wnom he knew, yet who was unlike the image he carried about in his heart, like one's memory of the dead. He saw his father, and a sea cf faces, all assembled at the h"'! door, and his heart failed him because of his wife, but when the carriage drew up. he got out, and, amidst hearty cheers from lusty English throats, he turned and assisted Waitohi —who was frightened almost to death—to gzt out also. He drew her hand through his arm, and took her straight up to his father and mother. " This is my wife, father, and mother,” he said. “ I hope you have a welcome for her, too.” “ A black woman, by Gad 1 ” exclaimed the old . .... ...

squire, drawing himself up to his full height, and casting a glance of withering contempt on Waitohi, who looked ready to sink into the ground out of sight of all the staring multitude, and this fierce old man, who somehow reminded her of her Maori lover. Kuiti. Airs. Carew', who had never in all her married life dared to have a will of her own, turned and fled into the house, knowing full well that a storm, much greater than that which had sent Roger adrift on the world in his youth, was now about to break over all their heads. Only Mary Clare came forward, and, putting her arms round Waitohi before them all, said : " I welcome you, dear, for your own sake, as well as for Roger’s.” " Father,” said Roger, “ this is my wife. Whatever you may say to me do not insult her. I married hein the face of all the world. She is the mother of my Itoys—•” and as he spoke, out of the carriage tumbled two brown-faced, curly-headed boys, who ran to their father for protection from this fierce old man. whose like they had never seen before. “Young savages, by Gad ! ” said the squire. ‘‘Are there any more of them, sir. Have you brought the whole tribe ? You might as well, by Gad ! A pretty pass things have come to when Australian blacks are brought into—no, not into, for by Gad ! they shall never enter house of mine.” “ Father, I protest against all this, on my wife's account, not on my own. You turned me adrift to do for myself when I was but a youngster. You turned me out into the world with hard words, and almost blows. I might have married an Australian black, or I might have done worse and married an Australian convict, as others in like position have done, but I did not. I married a good woman, and my wife shall never be subjected by me to such insults as these. Waitohi.” Roger said, taking his wife's hand, and raising it to his lips, "I beg your pardon for bringing you here. “My wife,” he continued, proudly, “is not an Australian at all. She is a New Zealand Princess.” “By Gad ! ” stuttered the old squire. “By Gad ! ”

Roger was not allowed to go back to London then and there, as he wished. His old friend Mary Clare followed them to the coach, which was still waiting on the drive in front of the hall, and gave orders to drive to her own house.

" Vou shall stay with me,” she said, taking Waitohi's limp hand in her own firm, warm one. " You see, Roger and I were just like brother and sister long ago, so I have a kind of right to you all. And as for these splendid boys—the squire shall go down on his knees to them yet. So Miss Mary Clare, who had a house of her own a few miles from Turbiton, and was a perfectly independent specimen of womankind, from whom perhaps emanated those ideas whence sprung the ‘’new woman ” of our times, set the old squire and all his faction at defiance, and took Roger and his wife and bairns home with her, and fussed around, and tried her level best to make up for the hard usage the poor things had received from Squire Carew.

But Waitohi hardly spoke. Only a little ghost of a smile flickered at times on her full, red lips. Even when a pathetic little letter came from Roger's mother—pathetic enough to make anybody weep—there were no tears in Waitohi’s eyes, only a sorrowful, strained look, as if she were looking back at the great wrong she had done her own people by leaving

them to think she had met her death in that dreadful bush fire-

She was not siow at understanding, either. At a glance she had grasped the situation. Mary Clare had been waiting for Roger till her hair went gray, and her beautiful eyes grew dim. She was not jealous of Mary Clare ! Oh. no ! Years ago she would have been fiercely jealous, and ready to kill anyone who came between Roger and her. hut she had not lived with Roger all those years without understanding him, and knowing there would never be any cause for jealousy. And as for Mary ClareRoger would never have loved a girl of that sort. They had scorned her—Roger’s wife, the highest title in the world to her. And now her heart was broken, and never, never more in the world which had always looked so beautiful and wonderful, would the sun look bright again to Waitohi. ” Darling," she said, one day. to her husband. " I am going away back to my own people. This country is too big and too cold for me. I shiver all the time in it. and I long to see the rata, and the poroporo blossom again, and the island with the maikaikai and beautiful Aoetea.”

" Dearest, only get well again." said Roger, soothingly. “ I am only waiting till you get well to take our passages out again. Heaps of English people are

going out now, and you need never be afraid of Kuiti or any of his tribe. We shall be too strong for them now.” " I would like to see Aoetea again, and all my people, but the moons are many since 1 left them, and they may be gone where I am going. Yes. Roger. I am going to die. or 1 could never have you. or Eric, or Owen. Mary Clare loves you. and she will not let you grieve too much. She w ill he go< d to my boys, too. so I will go away to make room. No. no. darling, I shall be glad 1 Always think I shall be glad ! She loved you first, ami I came between. You were thinking of her—l know now— that day under the karaka tree, for your eyes were looking at a picture far away, and your mouth was smiling." " Taipo came into my heart that day when your father said ' By Gad ! and By Gad 1 ’ but you and Mary Clare have driven him away- There is no taipo in my heart now. only the voices of my people calling me. ' Haeremai, a-Waitohi. Haeremai.’” There is a legend still extant among the Waikawa Maoris that * Waitohi (now called I’icton) was so called after a beautiful Maori girl, who was burnt to death in a large bush fire, before the white people came to New z-ealand. * Waitohi divided water.