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Chapter XVI. Death of a Hero.

During the night, Richards became delirious, and Gordon and I spent the hours which we had hoped to devote to sleep watching by his side. At first, our companion muttered loving speeches, addressed to the young lady to whom he was engaged to be married; and then, thinking he was alone with her, he spoke of their hopes for the future, and the plans he had made for their marriage and after life. He went over again in his delirium all the thoughts which had animated him during the months immediately preceding our excursion, and unfolded plans which had been on his mind affecting himself and his promised bride. It was truly heart-rending to sit there in the dull light of the whare listening to the mournful voice of our poor friend as he talked words so full of hope and meaning, but which, coming as they did from his irresponsible mind, went home to our souls and filled us with hopeless pity. Then he seemed to take up the events that had occurred since we had set out on our expedition. When he spoke of the descent of the mountain, he became thoroughly excited, and for a time we could scarcely restrain the fierce action which followed on the promptings of his delirium.

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After this he lay quiet for a time, and seemed to be in a peaceful sleep, except that at short intervals his lips moved and a few disjointed words indicated that his mind was far from resting. Presently he started up again, and called out, "Don't go! don't go! Don't go with them! They are treacherous, and will kill us!" Then, for a moment, quietness reigned again, only to be broken by the same train of thought, as he exclaimed "Don't go! don't go! Let us resist them while we are strong enough to escape from them!" He was evidently recalling our meeting with the Maoris, and disclosing the thoughts that were on his mind at that time.

Perhaps, had he spoken then, we should not have been in our present plight, and I should not now be recording experiences from which I can only hope we will emerge successfully. After this a somewhat longer interval of quietness followed, during which both Gordon and sat silently watching the face and form of our companion—sat in mutual sympathy, but too full of sad thoughts to speak. As I gazed upon the solemn face of Gordon, and from that to the closed eyes and sunken cheeks of Richards, who, so shortly before, had been the healthiest and strongest of us all, I could not help harboring hard thoughts of the Maoris to whom we owed our misfortunes. Then I reflected how unreasonable were my feelings; and with an effort I dismissed from my mind all such thoughts, only to become possessed with a dull foreboding as to the result of the blow which had prostrated our companion.

Then I fell into an uncomfortable reverie, and built up all kinds of wild fancies of a daring escape from the page 139Maoris, and repulsing them in an attempt to recapture us; of returning to their village, and dealing out vengeance to them for their acts; of the great excitement we caused on recounting to our friends the events of our expedition; and many other fancies of wild and improbable occurrences flowing from the position in which we were placed, and the events of the immediate past.

Suddenly I was awakened from my dream-like state by a wild cry from Richards; and, starting up, found him again laboring under strong excitement. He yelled fiercely several times, and sat up with glaring eyes and upraised hands, as if intent on felling some imaginary foe. After accomplishing what appeared to be his purpose, he sank back again, seemingly overcome, panting for breath, and rolling his eyes wildly. Gordon at once held some water to his lips, and bathed his throbbing temples, which had the effect of considerably soothing him. Again, for a time, all was quiet, and we sat watching the now still and silent form beside us, but filled with painful apprehension, as we noted his labored breathing, and the painful twitching of the face so wanting in animation and expression. At length, Gordon broke the dull silence by whispering to me—

"I say, old man, can we not do anything for him? Is there nothing we could do to relieve him?"

"Nothing that I can see; we can only trust to Nature, and hope that this sleep will leave him refreshed and strengthened."

"Don't you think some of the Maoris could do something to help him?"

"Do something!" I echoed, somewhat bitterly. "They page 140would consult their Tohunga, and if he said the wounded man would not recover, probably they would hasten his death."

"I don't think they are so bad as that," returned Gordon, testily; certainly I think if Richards wakes up again delirious, we should try what they can do."

Then we relapsed into silence, and sat watching the prostrate form for some considerable time. The pale moon rose above the horizon, and the faint light from her waning crescent shone into the whare and fell upon the face of the sleeper. The stillness of midnight was unbroken by the slightest sound. The searching moonbeams cast a weird and fitful gleam upon the floor, and fell in dull whiteness upon the different parts of the cold and cheerless apartment.

Suddenly the still night was startled from its peacefulness by the cruel, monotonous whining of a dog near the whare. The animal had awoke from its slumbers, and, seeing the faint gleam of the moonlight, had struck up a dismal, discordant yell, drawn out into a wretched whine. As this painful noise fell on our ears, Gordon looked at me, and I at him, with pained expression. The superstitions of our youth came back to both of us in an instant. In such surroundings, and with this circumstance so much in keeping with our darkest thoughts, we found it impossible to shake off the uncomfortable feeling they engendered. As Gordon looked at me in silence, a tear trickled down his cheek, and his lips quivered with emotional excitement.

The situation was too solemn and painful for words, and I turned away my head with the consciousness of a page 141dull choking at my throat. The whining of the dog still continued, and I was glad of the short relief afforded me in going out to drive the animal away from the immediate vicinity of Richards' bedside. As I turned again towards the whare, a dark cloud obscured the moon, and the light it afforded was dulled. This circumstance added to my gloomy feelings as I went back to my friends. It also had the effect of quietening the dog, and an oppressive silence followed. We resumed our watching without a word, the shadow of a superstition still resting upon us. The sense of our isolation took possession of me, and hope seemed a powerless antidote. An uneasy movement by our companion directed our attention to him. After tossing about for some minutes he opened his eyes and looked around him dreamily. When his gaze fell upon us he stared vacantly for a moment, and then his lips moved feebly as he said—

"Gordon, old friend, are you there?"

Gordon stooped over him and took his hand.

"Yes, Richards, old fellow, can I do anything for you?"

" It is too late, old friend; I am beyond help now. You can do nothing but bear my latest message."

His words came feebly from his faltering lips, but were spoken with the firmness of conviction.

" Don't say that, Richards, old man; you will get better from this blow," exclaimed Gordon, as he brushed a tear from his eyelids.

"Yes, I'll be better soon," replied Richards, solemnly.

There was no mistaking his meaning. As he spoke he turned to me and held out his hand, which I grasped firmly.

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"Good-bye, Brock, old man," he said feebly, as he returned the pressure of my fingers; "you won't forget your promise to me, will you?"

His calm resignation quite unmanned me, and I could only reply by a gentle pressure of his hand. Richards then turned to Gordon.

"You will promise me, too," he murmured," that when you leave here you will take my body back to friends in Dunedin, and not leave my bones to be used as spearheads and fishhooks by these savages?"

Richards spoke with feeling, and the effort exhausted him. Gordon bent kindly over him as he whispered some soothing words of hope. To us the conviction expressed by our friend that he would never rise from the effects of the blow was a most disheartening omen. We had never ceased to nurse the strongest hope that his injury would not prove serious; but when he had given himself up to the opposite feeling, and with faltering voice bade us good-bye, the dreadful reality of despair left us utterly speechless. After a moment Richards spoke again. With his hands resting in ours, he moved his lips slowly without looking at us.

"You will see her for me, will you not, and give her my last message?"

He could not trust himself to pronounce the name of his fiancée, but we understood his meaning, and for reply gently pressed his hand. In a voice quivering with emotion, he continued—

"Tell her that far away in this wild country, in the midst of this savage people, my latest thoughts were of her. page 143Tell her that when I lay dying her image made my departure less sad, the memory of her voice cheered my last moments, and that as I crossed into the dark shadow the thought of her love for me illumined and brightened my way."

This effort proved a severe strain upon his feeble frame, and, as sob followed sob and choked his utterance, I felt that I could not longer help to cheer the prostrate man. I glanced at Gordon in mute sympathy, and saw big tears freely coursing over his cheeks. He smothered back a noisier expression of his feelings, and turned again towards Richards, who continued—

"Say to her, old friends, that my latest wish is that she should not allow her grief for me to stand in the way of her future happiness; that if she should find some worthy fellow to fill the void left by my death, I pray her to give him that bliss she would have bestowed on me; that I will look upon them from my resting-place and bless the union. Ask her not to mourn for me in any outward show of grief; that a thought now and then of her lost lover, who died far away from her, will be all I expect."

He paused again, breathing heavily, and lay still for some moments as if about to fall asleep. Presently he started up again.

"Oh! Brock, Gordon, what is the date?"

We told him.

"Yes, it is! I felt it! To-morrow morning was the date fixed for our marriage! Yes, sweet bride, I will see you then; sweet love, I will join you, never fear! Oh! Gordon, tell her the story of my death!—that I did not meet a coward's fate, but fell doing my duty to a friend."

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"Yes, yes," replied Gordon, as Richards looked at him with a troubled appeal; "you fell nobly, and your friends shall know it!"

Gordon's voice trembled, and he could scarcely finish. His words seemed to carry some sunshine to the expiring mind.

With a smile upon his lips Richards again spoke.

"One more message, Gordon."

He paused as if unable to speak. After a moment he faltered—

"If she should ever marry "—but he seemed unable to proceed.

Gordon motioned to me, and together we raised the feeble form of our friend. He smiled faintly as he said—

"Thank you, old friends; that is well. If she should ever marry——tell her I hope she will,——and have a son,——I——I——should——like him to bear my name. You'll say that to her,—will you not?" and he again turned his tearful eyes in mute appeal to us.

"Yes, yes, old man, it will be a sacred message," replied Gordon.

" Aye, my last request," murmured the dying man.

At that moment the winning of the dog near our whare again disturbed us. Richards heard the sound, and a shadow passed over his face. Presently we felt his form grow heavier on our arms, and sink slowly down towards the earth. We knew that with the elasticity of his limbs the spirit which animated them had fled peaceably away. In mournful silence we laid down our burden, and cast a long sad look upon the peaceful features now still in death.

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The cloud which had obscured the moon passed away, and her pale light fell full upon the landscape. In the solemn stillness Gordon and I rose, and as with mutual impulse, linked our arms together, and passed slowly out into the night. A dark shadow had fallen across our pathway, but in the silence of the hour our grief was softened by a feeling of sympathy too deep for language.

The rest which had been found by our companion, and the resignation of his last moments, took all the bitterness from our souls, and left us to a chastening sorrow.

His wedding morn dawned, and the sun rose upon his lifeless form. Far away in a busy city an expectant bride sat, bathed in tears of suspense and uncertainty over the absence of a bridegroom who had that day entered into a more lasting union, and would never fulfil his earthly tryst.