CAPTAIN SHEEN, Adventurer.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIII, Issue IV, 23 July 1904, Page 10

CAPTAIN SHEEN, Adventurer.

BY

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE OF NEW ZEALAND.

CHARLES OWEN.

CHAPTER XV. By easy stages we reached Waitaki, the end of our long trudge; and after two days’ rest our full crew re-embarked for Kapili. There was a heavy ground-swell along the coast, the dying anger, perhaps, of some distant storm; and many times ] was afraid we r.huuld founder or capsize*. The Maoris, however, displayed no unusual concern. Whiwhi appeared <Mpial to any emergency that might arise, and was always confident tint his frail craft would weather the worst sea. There was one adventure they did not face with so much indifference.

As we neared tin* vicinity of Akaroa, in the starlight stillness of a frosty night, fires were burning along the shore, and the place seemed all astir. Enjoining the strictest silence. Whiwhi tried to steal by unnoticed. In spite of every precaution, we wore discovered as we were almost opposite the pah. Excitement was apparent in the moving lights which flashed here and there alternately, and in the eager voices demanding who we were. Then, amid much clamour, and a great rushing to and fro, they launched a large canoe in pursuit. Meanwhile we pulled for our very lives: the canoe, responsive to the effort, leapt through the water like a porpoise, leasing a foamy trail for those in chase.

It was plain by the fires I hat the Ngaitahu had expected our return, and by the speed with which they got afloat, just as plain, they were prepared for it. They soon got our bearings and their canoe well under way. Ami now the race began in deadly earnest. Not a word was uttered. For miles we fled, with no chart but the starry sky. With the dawn, the Ngaifahu, finding that we had outstripped them, abandoned the chase. Then we eased off. and, regaining our breath, commented noisily on our escape from certain death —or worse. The Maoris wore jubilant. and, for the first time during our quest, displayed any great emotion. No other incident of note disturbed the remainder of our voyage until one fine morning, in calm weather, Kapiti hove in sight. “The outlook’s stormy,” muttered Sheen, as we approached the yelling and gesticulating groups, awaiting our landing. “Why?” 1 asked. “No whalers about,” he answered, with a significant jerk of his head, “and the chiefs are giving us the cold shoulder. What’s wrong with Te Rauparaha, I wonder, for he’s cute enough to know that the brig couldn’t be back from Australia yet. That devil Rangihaeata’s been having it .ill his own way, that’s clear, denouncing the pakeha and the folly of believing any white man’s spoken word.” Then, scanning the strait: “Damn his eyes’ I wish a sail would heave in sight,” he added. “You’d still have the bargain to square even if there were a sail,” I remarked. “The what!’* he cried. “The bargain!” 1 repeated with emphasis. “The taking of Tamaiharanui and the present of muskets!” Whiwhi was watching us closely and it was well, he did not understand us. The Captain laughed at his own affected stupidity. “The bargain,” he echoed absently. “Oh! Yes! The bargain! It’s. always the bargain with you!” Ho measured me for some seconds with his eye. “Ah, well,” he reflected. “J never saw a South Sea whaler yet who <ouldn*st be bought, and, given a ship. I’ll undertake tn carry out bargain enough to get us free; always provided one thing, you understand, Caspar,” his face grew hard and determined, “that you keep your hands off the wheel!” I understood only too well and no-

thing more was said until the eauoe grated on the shingly beach. It was with mixed feelings that our little party stepped ashore. As before, our arrival was greeted with shouts of welcome for our Maori companions, while we were treated with general coldness and contempt. There was something more, however, in the eyes of the ferocious old hag as she glared at us, foremost Hmong the howling throng. Sheen grinned his compliments and assumed an air of easy good-humour. “Where is Te Rauparaha?” he asked. “Up at his whare,” was the curt reply. “Come on. Caspar,” sai l Sheen, “we’ll g<f and talk to the great chief.” We found Te Rauparaha alone, smoking his pipe, crouched before a smouldering fire. As we entered, he glanced round at Sheen with an evil gleam in his eye and his salutation was as cold as ice.

“How has the pakeha fared at Waipounamu?” he asked. Sheen shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

“Well enough. Rangatira.” lie said. “But. your country is full of atuas. It is a terrible country!”

Te Rauparaha showed his fang-like teeth.

“H’m!” he said. Then, after a pause, spent in studying us from head to foot, he continued. “And the pakeha with a face of fear, the trailer! Where is he?”

“We left him dead in front of Te-ana-g-te-atua, on the shores of Waipounamu.” Sheen returned. “Umph!” was the Chief's sole reply.

“Whiwhi will tell Te Rauparaha,” Sheen went on, “all that happened to us at Te-ana-a-te-atua and Waipounamu.” “Umph!” reiterated the Chief.

During the silence that followed, Sheen and Te Rauparaha looked at each other, the Maori like a tiger about to spring. There was a grating, metallic ring in his voice when he spoke. “When does the pakeha rangatira perform his part of the contract with Te Rauparaha?” he asked. “When the big waka comes back from Poihakena (Port Jackson),” Sheen replied.

“When will the big waka be back from Poihakena?” Te Rauparaha inquired.

“It should be within another month,” Sheen made answer.

“Umph!” repeated the Chief, in the same incredulous tone lie had used throughout.

“What more can I say to case the mind of Te Rauparaha?” asked Sheen. "The pakeha says his big waka has gone to Poihakena, ch?” Te Rauparaha said, with his eyes fixed on me rather than on Sheen, watching me with a cunning leer-

“To Poihakena! It is true!” Sheen agreed, with a smile.

“The pakeha lies!” contradicted Te Rauparaha, with a withering glance.

A less ready man than Sheen would have shown surprise, but lie knew better. Ignoring the charge, he did not even trouble to reply. “The pakeha lies!” Te Rauparaha repeated with emphasis.

“The Rangatira says so,” Sheen admitted.

“There was a whaleship here two days ago,” observed To Rauparaha, with bit-

ing sarcasm. “Ah,” exclaimed Sheen, taken aback. “The pakchn secs his fraud is detected.” suggested Te Rauparaha. “Where no fraud is meant there can be none to detect,” evaded Sheen. At this the Chief rose to his feet in a fury, threw down his pipe and stamped about the whare. Boiling over with rage, he burst out like the rattle of musketry: —

“There has been fraud! The big waka flew away and left the three pakehas

here, and will not return for them. The whale-catcher sighted the waka sailing for America. The pakeha is helpless; at the mercy of Cue Maori; and Tamaiharanui must still go unpunished. The pakeha knows that the big waka was stolen and Te Rauparaha is deceived, trifled with, and moeked. Ugh! You liar!” iie roared, pointing at Sheen.

“If it was so, we did not know it,” said Sheen, affecting innocence. “I gave my officer orders to go to Poihakena. If lie doesn't return, it is I that, have been deceived, trifled witii and moeked; and not Te Rauparaha. Besides, how did the whale-catcher know that the big waka was going to America?”

“The officer of the Rangatira told him,” answered Te Rauparaha. "Then the pakeha has been much deceived and robbed! What can he say, seeing that it is not his fault?” said Sheen.

Te Rauparaha was somewhat pacified by Sheen’s plausible excuses.

“Fault!” lie sneered. “Fault! Ths pakeha takes his loss easily. Te Rauparaha expects utu for all he does. Remember this, pakeha, and take warning.”

“If the big waka does not return,” said Sheen, “when a whale-catcher comes the Rangatira shall be paid in full. The Ingirilii help each other in difficulties.” The Chief’s face wore a look of scorn.

“That is for the pakeha to see to,” lie said. “For part of the utu, I must have Tamaiharanui trapped. I will give the pakeha till his big waka could have returned. If he then fails to perform his part, let him remember what happened to Whareine at Wangaroa. I have spoken.” He sat down by the fire again, re-lit his pipe and puffed vigorously. We did not move but he took no notice of us. maintaining a disdainful silence that was in itself an order to depart- At any rate as such we understood it, and after a moment went from the presence of Te Rauparaha to a whare set apart for us. It was plain we were closely watched and any ntteir.pt to escape from the island would be madness. Our only hope was the arrival of a whaler who would undertake to carry out the bargain so revolting to my whole being. Such was the power of Sheen’s influence over me that, if I would. I could not rebel. Nevertheless the idea of his villainous scheme cut me to the quick, and I was ready to face torture rather than bear a willing hand in that bloodthirsty wor';. carrying death and destruction to so many, to satisfy the vengeance of Te Rauparaha. God knows, my standard of morality was not a high one! I would have fought for my country against a common foe and have borne my share in the waging of open war, and I should have considered myself neither less, nor more, than any other soldier. . But it was treachery I could not sanction. To steal down to Akaroa ostensibly for the purposes of trade; to fly a flag of peace at the masthead, and under the shelter of its folds to entice the natives on board the ship; and then to set upon them a hold full of murderous enemies; that was the point at which I stuck.

But what could I do when my will was worth no more than a glance of the Captain’s eyes. Ever since I came under his spell I had many times eaten my heart out in vain repentance and just as vain regret. Some who read this story will think me a poor sort of hero. So I was! 1 never aspired to heroism but was just a simple English boy in toils that were too strong for him to break. Secure from observation in our whare, I ventured to once more remonstrate with Captain Sheen. “How long a time lias Te Rauparaha given us!” I asked. “Till the brig could have got back from Fort Jackson,” he said. “But when will that be?” “About three weeks from now I should thin!:.”

“Oh. well,” I remarked, “I shall expect the worst.” “And I the best,” he returned gaily. “You see, one whaler has already been here. There’ll likely be another before three weeks have gone. A good deal can happen in that run. Just my cursed luck that made us miss the other, and by two days only.” I smiled at his assurance.

“You’re mighty cocksure of inducing them to lend their ship,” I said. “.Eh?” he said, tartly. “That’s my affair.” “1 reckon we’d both better die if we must do one or the other,” I said.

“Hands off the wheel,” he reminded; “we've thrashed that out.”

“What if Speering turns up here,” I suggested, shifting my ground. For a moment I thought Sheen meant to strike me. The purple veins on his forehead stood out and he clenched his lists involuntarily.

“Hell and fury!” he stormed. “What next? Just now it was the bargain! Now it’s Speering! Who’s Speering?” “The man you dodged at Bristol,” I explained; the man who spoke from the ship in the fog.” It was a bold shot and I watched its mark.

“Well?” he inquired, slightly subdued. “He wouldn’t carry out your bargain.”

Sheen laughed, but it eost a palpable effort.

“No, he wouldn’t,” he admitted. “I’d have to lie low if he turned up, and I don’t know as I pine much for a sight of his face. But you'll see it won’t be Speering who’ll come. It’ll be softer stuff than Speering.” It happened the Captain was right, for, after ten days’ ceaseless watching, a sail appeared in the strait. With breathless eagerness we saw it draw nearer and nearer. Then Te Rauparaha summoned us to his whare. "The chance comes, pakeha,” he said. “So we see, Rangatira,” answered Sheen. “A good chance to escape, eh?” the Maori cunningly suggested. The Captain made a grimace. “Te Rauparaha is a great chief—and wise,” he said.

“The minds of men lie open to his eye,” answered the Maori. “The pakeIras shall speak with the whale-catcher by-and-bye. They will now return to their whare and stay there until they are wanted.”

At his bidding Whiwhf and Rungihaeta. with four or live others who were standing near, escorted us back and two of them remained as a guard ovexus. We did not see the whaler’s arrival. To oui - intense disappointment, instead of hastening to the beach to learn all we could of her us she dropped anchor; to strain our eyes for any sign that might yield us - relief; to see the boat lowered and who was in it as it reached the shore; instead of this, we were thrust into a dingy whare. there to await the pleasure of Te Raupaxahx and the rising tide of events. CHAPTER XVI. The first intimation we received of the nationality of the strange vessel was the burr of a harsh, Scots voice outside the whare. The speaker’s conversation reeked with foul oaths. My be’art stood still; Sheen held his breath; then with a s'g’.x of. relief uttered the one word: “Stewart!” “Who?” I whispered. “(lid Jimmy Stewart,” Sheen chuckled to himself, “the one man on the face, of God’s earth fox - the job.” One of our guards at this moment put his head in at the opening to the whare, which up till now had been barrev!. “Ifaere mai’” ho said. “There's a pakeba wishes to korero. Te R.xuparalxa sends him to you. Come!” Almost before the man had finished speaking Sheen dashed through the doorway. Though longing for light and air and afire wx'th curiosity from •Sheen’s last remark, I almost feared the aspect of a fellow creature so inhuman. Thon, conquering myself, after an instant’s hesitation. I followed Sheen and found him greeting in free, sailor fashion, a coarse and portly seaman of middle age, grizzled and muscubr, wiiose hard eyes glistened with surprised recognition. -- God!” cried the burly stranger, “Dan Sheen! Man it’s the unexpectit happens.” “So it is, Jimmy,” Sheen 'answered, ■"so it is! But you’ve turned up trumps for once anyway, and in the nick of time, just when the game was against me. fox - the want of a card.” The newcomer - shifted his quid and ■uttered a mirthless Laugh. “Aweel, Dan,” he said, “ye cut a figure o’ fun an’ nae nxistak’ - a’ by x exlane in siccan a place as this. No’ e’en a ship’s dinghy by ye. I'd credited ye wi’ bein’ a sleekit tod but it seems I’s inista’en. Hoo cam’ ye here, man? 1100 cam’ ye bore?” Sheen, with an answexing laugh, returned imp'.x tiently—‘T’d as tight -a craft as you ever sot eyes on and the damned male cleared one night, while we were ashore. I hope he’s run slick into Hell.” Stewart raised a big, dirty hand hypocritically. “Hoot, toot!” he chuckled. “Dxnna wish n man ill fox- besting ye. Dae as the lassie dae; saw na an'tak’ it. Ye ken it’s a guid sayin’ yon. Wha's the laddin, keekin’ owre yer slxoutlier?”

“Oh, I’m forgetting, you remember Ronald Mirrinxy,” said Sheen.

With the back of his hand the Seat ■wiped away some tob-acco juice, which trickled down bis stubblv chin.

“Sib to null Roixiiy?” he inquired, with a cautious stare. “Ronny's nevy,' no less, and as game a coek as the old ’un,” said Sheen. “Here, Caspar, this is Captain .Stewart.” The Scotsman seized my hand in a crushing grip. “I’m blythe to become acquent wi’ ye,” was his greeting, “fox- the sake o’ yer forbears. Whuur’s Ronny the day?” “Gone by the board long since,” said Sheen; “been dead a year or more.” “Syne, the deil’s got a gey. cannie counsellor.” retorted Stewart, “he was a boiinie nxan, was Ronny. Here’s till him, oayway. He wasna’ abune a wee dran hinxsel’.” Fetching out a flask from inside his thick cloth jacket, he took a pull, then handed it to Sheen. ‘■Drink, man.” he urged, “it’s ill speakin’ on a cauld wame. Yer ootsidc duddies link the waur o’ xvear sae ye maun get the wirmth frae the inside.” Smiling at this allusion to oui- tattered clothes, which were worn and ragged. Sheen took a good drink and offered the flask to mo. I refused by a shake of the head and he returned it to Stewart. ‘•Now. Jimmy, what brings you here?” he asked. The Scotsman was taking a second nip. His blotchy face advertised the abuse of spirits, likewise his .shaking hand as he caught the flask and thrust it back into his pocket. “D’vou hear?” said Sheen. “Ini-phm!’ hesitated Slewart, “naethin’ by ordinar’ profitable.” “What aro you on the look out for?” Sheen inquired. The smirk on Stewart’s face added zest to his reply. “Flax,” he said, “whale oil, dried heius. Man. 1 tell ye, the heids are worth nae en’ o’ bawbees as ornaments an’ curiosities.” His callous indifference to a loathsome traffic tilled-me with apprehension. Sheen was thoughtful a moment. I foresaw that the fate of Tamaiharanui was scaled. 1 had little doubt as to the character of Stewart. If sufficient price were offered he would willingly fall in with any suggestion whatsoever. There was one remaining chance—we might slip on to the brig ami leave the bargain unfulfilled. At the thought. my pulse quickened, slowing again at the recollection of Te Rnuparaha’s gift of foresight. We had him to reckon with. “Look here, Jimmy,” said Sheen: “if I put you on to a safe thing will you get me out of a fix’ It’ll be as easy as winking.” Stewart ceased his banter, his manner becoming attentive. . “Ou, ay!” he observed. “I ken fine that bare gentry are whiles braggart l)Pg < *ars• ,, Sheen knit his brows. “Hear a man out,” he cried; “whal’d you do for a cargo of flax?” “Gin ye want to be ta’cn aff, canna ye say sae?” Slewart asked. “I’m no’ for sayin’ (bat’d be cwre muckle o’ a price for flax.” “That's only part of it,” Sheen admitted. Then briefl v. fired by the remembrance.

he outlined our interview and bargain with Te Rauparaha. leaving out all mention of the treasure and making the trapping of Tamaiharanui the main condition. The expression of Slewart’s face grew stern as Sheen finished, bis cupidity lighting with some slumbering remnants of conscience.

“We'll start clear, onyway.” he cried. “I’m no’ fain to buy a thief frae the gallows, an’ I’m thinkin’ this suggestion o’ yours has the leuk o’ that Dan. Ye want me to transport a hirscl o’ lhae dark loons doou to Akaroa for the purpose o’ blixidy murder. I ken the gemni tine! It’d be a unco plot to ding i’ the lugs o’ ooi' native kintra. wad i no’?”' “It’s only acting as transport on agreement,” argued Sheen. "‘Wi’ the dc’il.” Stewart broke in. “With the devil, not likely,” Sheen expostulated. “With one tribe against another, that's all. What the hell does it niattex - to you ox- me if these Maori dogs do cut each other's throats—dog and cat no more. Look here, you're aftei' flax, and you’ll get no flax on any other terms, mind that. Besides, what’s a few dirty images. Why, it’s a godsend, man, to an old covenanter, like vourself. Run ’em

down to make money; th it's useful! Perhaps year last chance to wipe off old scores in the log up aloft. The heads'll do to swear at instead of the crew they won’t swear back.” Slewart still hesitated, chewing meditatively. “Would it tak' mair nor ten days, d'ye ken?” he asked. ‘'Nothing like it,” Sheen returned. “Aweel,” said Stewart. “I’m thinkin' gin the cargo's safe I'll dae it. It's ixae guid whilliewaing. mid, as ye say, the deils arc ixaethin' to me. Come youxwqys till we spiel- the terms o' yon tcethie chief.” The neweomei - was pretty forward, at any rate, fox' lie called out in bad Maori to some natives near us. and signified omdesire to be taken to Te Rauparaha. His garrulous good humoui- had entirely left him, and. at a jump, he had become the canny Scot. Te Rauparaha sat. waiting for us with gloomy face, at the entrance to his whine, both Rangihacata ami Whiwlii with him. He glanced from Stew-lit to Sheen as we approached, fixing his eyes on the latter. “Well, p.iKena," lie taunxed, “hacre ana

* manawareka, noho ana a ntanawakawa.”*

Rangihaeata laughed harshly, endorsing the statement of his chief. “We are willing to come to an agreement with the Rangatira,” answered Sheen pleasantly. “I "gh!” ejaculated Te Rauparaha. Whiwhi turned his back with impatient indifference. “The pakeha is late in keeping his promises,"’ Rangihaeata broke in. “The Ingiribi have proverbs,” said Sheen, “one of these says "better late than I>< ver? ” “Does the pakeha mean performance?” asked Te Rauparaha angrily, “or is he cheating the Maori rgain? If he is I’ll cook his head!” Sheen deliberated. He was about to propose a fresh bargain, with a new condition, and the upshot was uncertain. It was possible, if not probable, that the Maoris would reject it and demand to the last stiver the utu he had formerly promised. On the other hand Sheen’s astute intellect had counted all the chances. He had sounded the depths of Te Rauparaha’s subtle character. Few knew better than he tire motives that guide almost all natives in their actions—the historical spite or past wrong, that brooded over, makes revenge almost part of a man’s light to live, at anyrate his chief claim to power and respect among his fellows. No man was more influenced by these motives than Te Rauparaha. Sheen knew well that he had plotted for years against the manaf of Tamaiharanui, and, since the death of Te Pehi, had hated the Southern chief with a bitterness that would stop at nothing to compass his destruction. It was on this the Captain calculated, and his accuracy of judgment was shown in all that followed. With comparatively small experience he had clearly read the Maori mind. “The pakeha will keep his promise,” he said. “At least in part,” he added emphatically. “In part!” shouted the three in chorus: Te Rauparaha’s eyes glowing like live coals. “I'gh!” snarled Rangihaeata. ' “Te kuri!”i muttered Whiwhi. The faces of both the. minor chiefs expressed the keenest disappointment and reproach. “In part,” repeated Sheen. “1 am ready, or at least this pakeha is on my behalf, to take yon to Akaroa to capture Tamaiharanui.” Here he stopped to see that they Were following him. "But,” he continued, “we must have, besides our liberty, a cargo of flax.” Te Rauparaha stamped furiously, his bloodshot eyes blazing, as he plucked with twitching fingers at the mat that hung from one shoulder. “He harakeke,”§ he cried. “Flax! There was no mention of flax when the pakeha bargained with me to take him to Waipounamu. I have paid the pakeha fully, in advance, for the use of his waka. He harakeke! Ugh! The Ingirihi claim to be honest, but the pakeha is a liar and a cheat. Even now I do not understand him. There are the muskets — the muskets, promised for the destruction of the Ngaitahu amt the Ngatiapn! Where are the muskets?” “Rangatiras,” answered Sheen, looking from one angry face to the other, “Chiefs of flic great Ngatitoa hapulf! I came here in my own waka and I made promises and conditions then. T take a long journey and return to find that I have been robbed, if what the Great Chief heard from the whale-catcher he true. I am in the hands of the rangatiras. I do not go back from my bargain. I will pay all the utu I can, but the pakeha Tueriti wants utu also for helping mo. One cargo of flax will pay him. He has no muskets and I have no musketif my waka fails to return.” "No i in-'.i t Rangihaeata broke in. “The pakeha should be ripped open and eaten. He treats the Ngatitoa as if tiny were children. Stewart, understanding the gist of this speech) showed his appreciation in a loud ehmklc. Rangihaeata glared at li'in cioilemptmm dv Iml did not speak. “Well. Rangatira.” Sheen proceeded, ’‘wind is your nm-wr? The pakeha, Tmriii, will do nothing without his utu

of he harakeke. The waka is his, not mine, and I can do no more. If you kill and eat me, all chance of fulfilling the bargain is gone. I do not care, nor do I fear death. If the Rangatira prefers the heads of the pakehas to the blood of his enemies, so be it. He must make the. choice, not we.” The chief made an effort to control his passion. He strode up and down, deep in thought, reviewing the issues now at stake. Sheen, with assumed unconcern, waited calmly while his fate and mine hung in the balance. His bravery was unquestioned, amounting almost to a virtue. In many a peril had it stood us in good stead. All through our transactions with the Maoris, when we carried our lives in our hands, his bearing was worthy of a better cause. It was only by satisfying Te Rauparaha’s consuming desire for vengeance on his distant enemy that we could escape with our lives. Three times our safety depended on his word: when we were left behind at his mercy; when he returned from our quest to find our insincerity discovered; and now when Sheen made new proposals, urging his ease with surprising tact and audacity. We should have got short shrift at the hands of Rangihaeata, who glared menacingly at. Sheen while his fingers clutched nervously at the handle of his mere. "1 have no flax on Kapiti,” said Te Rauparaha, at last. Sheen had anticipated this reply. “But the mainland also belongs to the Great Chief!” he urged. “Is it much to pay for the punishment of Tamaiharanui, one cargo of he harakeke and the freedom of two pakehas who have been foully deserted. We know that Te-ika-a-Maui, with Waipounamu added to it, will belong to the Great Chief and the hapu of the Ngatitoa. What is a cargo of flax. Take our lives and other white men will shun Kapiti; trade will be lost to Te Rauparaha; and Tamaiharanui will laugh at the Ngatitoa from behind the pallisades of Takapuneke.”* “Is the murderer of Te Rauparaha’s matua keref not worth that. Remember Te Pehi!”

The name acted like a battle cry. Even Rangihaeata forgot his rancour as he murmured, “Te Pehi!” Te Rauparaha’s vacillating manner changed to swift decision. A hurried consultation ensued before Te Rauparaha spoke. “Enough!” he cried; “I will give the flax.”

“That’s settled, Jimmy,” said Sheen, turning quickly to Stewart and speaking in English, "you’ll get your flax after all.”

“I ken fine it’ll be weel earned,” returned the Scotsman, with a grin. "is the brig all ready?” asked Sheen. “The morn’s mornin’ I’ll hae her ready,” answered Stewart. Te Rauparaha, Rangihaeata and Whiwhi were talking in low tones. As Stewart finished speaking Te Rauparaha, looked questioningly at Sheen, who at once inquired: — “Will to-morrow suit the Rangatira and his taua?”s “E pai ana ae apopo,” agreed tha Chief. “We will be ready.” “Good!” said Sheen. "We will now go aboard to prepare for the Rangatira and his warriors.” Te Rauparaha shook his head in reply. "Tuerti goes.” he answered, pointedly. “You and the taita mariki pakehag remain behind. Sheen met the repulse with a smile. My Inst chance was gone. I had half hoped we might have got away. . "'Why?” Sheen inquired, artlessly. “Dois the pakeha forget?” replied Te Rauparaha. “Is his memory but of a day .' Does he forget how the big waka lift their wings and fly across the sea? 1 will have a surety that this whaleeatehcr will be here to-morrow.” With a shrug Sheen, reconciling himself to the rebuff, turned io Stewart. “You’d bitter get aboard, Jimmy,” he aid, "and make all shipshape. We’ll have to come oil’ with the natives in t he morning.” “Man!” cried Stewart, “there are sr.me ■;< y. fule bodies aiming cor fellowcreatures.” "Wh.ii the devil do you mean?” queried '-hern. “X mi dour faced Chief,” returned the

Scot, "wha kens nae mair o’ human nature than a sookin* bairn. Hoot! Nae mair judgment than a cockroach I tell ye. gin he opines I’ll no’ bring hanie my flax. Ye’re a kin’ o’ arl-penny, Dan, my man, but there’s none needit. I’d dae mair nor ferry them doun to Akaroa, at wee’ oursel’s, for a guid sellin’ cargo. The fashions loon thocht I’d gang awa’ withoot my flax. Dod, he dinna ken auld Jimmy,” he concluded, and his whole frame shook with laughter.

“May be he mistook you for a soft Englishman,”' grinned Sheen. “Hech. man! The puir dementit fule!” observed Stewart in reply. Here Sheen addressed Te Rauyaraha and spoke as if he were interpreting the conversation that had just taken place between him and Stewart. “E Rangatira,” he said, “the pakeha will have his waka ready apopo* at midday, or before if the taua is waiting. The chiefs understand?”

“E pai ana ae apopo!t we understand,” agreed the three Maoris. Everything satisfactorily settled, Stewart took his leave, going down with high jaunty steps to the brig’s jolly boat. Under guard we returned to our whare prison- Te Rauparaha showed by his solicitude how deep was his distrust of Sheen. Directly we were alone, as a forlorn hope, I attacked my companion on the iniquitous traffic in which we were now finally engaged. “You were right, Captain Sheen,” I cried, standing up and facing him. “What inhuman monsters sail the seas, ready to be bought, soul and body, by the highest bidder. Proud of your purchase, I suppose, having secured one to carry out your nefarious trafficking. No doubt that hell born spirit, bloody murder, and all its attendant horrors, will ride rampant on Stewart’s brig, and of course Captain Sheen will thoroughly enjoy the company. At any rate, I have spoken my mind on the eve of this atrocious butchery which I would prevent if I could, fearing death less than I do it. I came in search of treasure, not for wholesale slaughter.” My conscience rose in arms against such iniquity and I rose with it. The Captain listened, smiling at my outburst, and jubilant at my distress. “You’d be a damned mutinous young spark if 1 gave you rope enough,” he ejaculated quietly, totally avoiding the point at issue. At this my anger and contempt blazed up and for the moment I believed I had broken from his control.

“You dissembling fiend,” I cried. “Had I known you at first I’d as soon have put to sea with the devil.” He laughed outright as at a compli-

ment. Then, pulling himself together* he spoke with scowling face. “Do you want the truth?” he growled. “It’s not much use wanting it from you,” I retorted. “Oh, isn’t it?” he said. “We>l you’ve got it here! I’m about full up of you.” “Not more than I am of you,” I broke in. “1 like men to deal with,” he sneered. “No man would deal with such a monster,” I hissed, spitefully. At that his face hardened and the quarrel ended, like the bursting of a bubble. “Drop that word,” he commanded. I tried to utter it again, a seornftil laugh greeting the vain effort. ‘"Drop it because I tell you,” he repeated, “and bear this in mind! None of your damned sentiment and tomfoolery where we arc going. You’re my slave, you know —always —mw slave!” is' ; -i 1 r (To be Continued.)’ i