Chapter XXI. Harry Baker Joins the Forest Rangers—Wounded.

I had entered Auckland by ‘bus late on the night of my arrival at Onehunga, and put up at the old Wyndham House. As I entered the breakfast-room the next morning, I noticed a youth of about my own age busily engaged on a plate of beefsteak. He looked up as I entered, and stared at me in what I considered a rude manner.

‘Frank, by Jove! Well, old man, how are your?’ he exclaimed, heartily.

I then knew it must be my old comrade, Harry, but how changed since I last met him! I should never have recognized him had he not spoken to me. He had become so bronzed and hirsute, and was dressed in the simple but serviceable uniform of the Forest Rangers. These, by-the-bye, were a body of men selected from the different militia regiments, noted for their indomitable pluck, and aptitude for darting into the trackless bush in pursuit of their foe, utterly regardless of the fact that the said foe might be lurking behind the trees ready to pick them off. They were commanded by the most brave and dashing officer that ever led his men to victory in New Zealand—Major Von Tempsky. He was a man who did not receive page 87 from Government the consideration which he deserved, but his memory dwells lovingly in the hearts of all true colonists. To return, however, to Harry, we were speedily engaged in mutual inquiries and auswers. He gave me the following account of his doings since I had left him in Auckland. He first tried to get work near town. He was offered several clerkships, but refused them. He had not come to New Zealand to sit on an office stool, he said. He soon became acquainted with young farmers, whom he met at the bars when he was basking in the smiles of his favourite bar maid pro tem., or at other places frequented by young men from the country. Although these gentlemen ‘shouted’ for him to his heart's content, called him a right-down good fellow, and got him to show them the way about town, which, notwithstanding his recent arrival, he appeared extremely well able to do, yet they none of them cared to take him on their farms, judging, I presume, that his capabilities in the direction before said would scarcely be likely to qualify him for hard work on a farm. He then wished he had kept Mr Robinson's letter of introduction, but having destroyed it, be was too proud to write and ask for another. Hanging round Hunter's Horse Bazaar one day, he observed the man whose duty it was to ride and show off the horses perform that duty so badly, being evidently inebriated, that he came down a cropper. Harry immediately seized the bridle and jumped on the nag, leaving the spectators to help up the fallen hero. He sent the animal up and down the tan in an entirely different style, so much so, that bidding became brisk, and it was evident to everyone that Harry's horsemanship had put at least an extra five pound note into the owner's pocket. That gentleman came up well pleased when Harry dismounted, and after thanking him, inquired if he wanted a billet. Our friend naturally replied in the affirmative, and the gentleman took him up to the auctioneer and introduced him to his notice. ‘This is the sort of fellow you should have to show off the horses, and not a drunken fool like Joe, who has spoilt the sale of many a good horse.’ Harry was engaged on the spot to ride at the sales and do any other work required of him about the yards. This billet he kept just a week. On the succeeding sale day a pompous little foreman thought fit to reprimand him for some fancied want of smartness. Harry replied rather testily, whereupon the fellow struck him with his whip, and a moment after lay on his back in the tan seeing stars at an unusually early hour in the evening. Harry, without asking for his week's wages, marched out of the Bazaar. An officer of a militia regiment from Hawke's Bay, happened to be amongst the crowd who witnessed this little fray. Instead of joining in the laughter and jeers which assailed the discomfited hero, he hailed the retreating Harry. The latter did not condescend to answer but walked away all the more speedily. The gentleman, however, was not to be done in that manner. He hurried after him down Durham-street, and thus accosted him:

‘I say, my man, those fists of yours would be better employed hammering rebel Maoris than peaceful white men. Come and join my company in Hawke's Bay. We expect some hard knocks will be going shortly.’

Harry at once acepted this offer, for he reflected it would both give him a chance of distinguishing himself, and bring him into the neighbourhood of his divinities. I use the plural, for I believe it would have puzzled him to have asserted which of the two young page 88 ladies he could, with the greatest truth, dignify with the title in his own mind. He embarked for Napier in high spirits. Visions of heroic deeds occurred to him. At one time he was with superhuman efforts rescuing distressed Julia out of the power of ferocious savages, and being rewarded by the gift of her heart and hand, and the fatherly benediction of the man who had refused her to him with insult and scorn, as he considerd. At other, and far more frequent times, he would picture himself alone carrying off Miss Grave when only one of the two could be saved, and regretfully leaving her friend to perish, or worse than perish, in the hands of the brutal foes, a father's curse in this instance his portion instead of the blessing.

A few days after his arrival in Napier, as he was marching through the town with his troop, his eyes fell on Miss Julia Robinson seated on a neat but spirited hack in a riding habit which fitted her well-developed form to perfection. Although his dreams of late had been, as I have related, more frequently of Miss Grave, yet in a moment his old infatuation possessed him with renewed intensity. He had never seen Miss Julia look so fascinating. The effort to soothe her horse's natural excitement at the sight of armed men and the martial music of the band, had increased the usual bloom of her complexion, and the manner in which her lithe and graceful form answered to every bound of the frightened animal proclaimed her a first-class equestrian. He was an example of the fact that two loves can exist in the same breast at the same time, and the owner of that breast, if of undecided character, may not for the life of him or her be able to decide to which to give the preference. One, however, is almost invariably an infatuation of the senses, while the other will be the deep lasting love of the heart, evoked by the sterling qualities of the beloved, rather than by outside show or trick of manner. Which, then, will win the day? The truer one undoubtedly, if cool judgment is displayed, but should, as is too often the case, advantage be taken of a weak moment of excitement, then assuredly facination will gain a victory over her calmer, holier sister.

Harry now had these two loves in his breast. Sometimes one was ascendant, sometimes the other. Since his farewell to Miss Grave she had been most frequently in his thoughts. Now this sudden vision of Miss Julia, intensified by a bright smile, which he took as intended for himself, though, as it afterwards transpired, she had not recognised him, caused him to dethrone her rival again. The young ladies themselves, of course, were ignorant of the way their images were playing at see-saw in the amorous heart of this young soldier.

He had only been a few days in town when orders were issued for the militia, volunteers, and friendly natives to hold themselves in readiness for an attack. The Hauhau fanatics, impressed with the idea of attacking Napier, had already taken possession of a friendly pa close at hand. Sir Donald McLean, the Superintendent, had, however, been apprised of their intentions, and before daylight one morning Colonel Whitmore at the head of a force, comprising a body of militia and volunteers, surrounded the pa before the enemy were aware of their presence, then called on them to surrender. Harry, who was of the party, was desperately afraid they would do so, but he need have entertained no such fears, for only just awakened as they were, they fought like demons for an hour, when the survivors were taken prisoners. They were mostly well armed, and like most page 89 fanatics, believing themselves invulnerable, were, of course, utterly fearless of death.

Harry in this, his first battle, had the misfortune to receive a wound in his thigh. He was fighting like a bull dog. In fact, this occupation exactly suited his present temperament. Place an enemy before him, and there was then no wavering or indecision, no taking false steps through pride. He went at them as if at last he had secured an opportunity of wreaking vengeance against some of his fellow-men for the wrongs, fancied or otherwise, he had received from others of them. He was taken after the affray to the hospital at Napier, and through either bad treatment, or from the natural consequences of such a wound, he had a severe attack of fever, and was unconscious for some days. It will be observed that Harry did not himself relate verbatim all these little incidents. My knowledge of him, and what I heard from others, enabled me to fill in the missing links in the chain.

Mr Robinson, finding the natives were likely to become troublesome, had recently taken a house in Napier for his wife and family instead of allowing them to reside up-country. After the attack on the Hauhaus, just related, the young ladies, at Miss Grave's suggestion, had visited the hospital, taking flowers and a few trifles for the wounded. I must state that Miss Julia did not fall in very willingly with this suggestion, but decided to go this once, as her friend was bent on it. On entering the hospital the wounded fanatics first met their gaze, for they had been conveyed there with our own men. Miss Grave offered them flowers, but they sullenly expressed signals betokening refusal. As their tattooed, scarred features were not pleasing to look upon, and our friends could do nothing for them, they proceeded to the part of the building where lay those of their own race. The delirious raving and screaming of a patient, whom the attendants were vainly attempting to keep quiet, came suddenly on them, naturally frightening them, and they were about to leave the hospital quickly, when the words:—‘Julia, my love, I'll have you yet if I have to drag you over the dead body of your father,’ uttered in the tone of one in a raging fever, caused them to halt.

‘It's Mr Baker's voice, I'm certain it is, Julia!’ exclaimed her companion.

‘It may be Mr Baker or anyone else. I'm not going to stop here and hear his ravings.’

‘But, Julia, let us go up and try to calm him. Those nurses are simply aggravating him. I must go and speak to them.’

‘You can go it you like. I certainly shan't. The nurses are paid for their services. Let them do what they can. I don't see the necessity of helping them, nor will I.’

‘Well, Julia, do as you please. I can't bear to see suffering without trying to alleviate it.’

‘Oh, yes, I understand. You were always good at comforting Harry Baker.’

‘Julia, this badinage is out of place when a friend's life is in danger. I might with more truth tease you about him, for remember he used your name just now.’

‘What do I care whose name he uses? What have I to do with a penniless private in a militia regiment?’

‘Well, at the risk of your again mistaking my motives, I must say that I consider each one of us has this to do with his or her fellow page 90 creatures, whether penniless privates or peers. It is our duty to save pain when possible, so I'll go and give those ignorant nurses a lesson.’

Then this quiet young lady walked up to Harry's bedside, and regardless of some very strong language with which in his delirium he was anathematizing the said nurse.

‘This gentleman is a friend of mine,’ she exclaimed in an authoritative tone. ‘Leave him to me, I will soon calm him.’

‘But, miss, the doctor ordered us to hold him down and keep him quiet, whatever he did.’

‘You are only making him worse. Leave him to me. I'll take all the responsibihity.’

‘But miss, his language ain't fit for the likes of you to hear.’

Harry at this moment proved the truth of this statement, for he told them to go to — —, a place never voluntarily visited, and not keep his darling Julia from him.

‘I do not wonder at his language when you are holding him so roughly.’

On this they relaxed their hold and drew back. She immediately went up to his pillow.

‘I am not Julia, Mr Baker,’ she said, soothingly, ‘but I am a friend whom I hope it will please you to see. I am come to nurse you, so you must obey me, and do what I say. Remember I am your sister. I'll tell you all about Julia by-and-bye.’

‘Will you? Will you?’ he inquired eagerly, for he recognised her. ‘Bless you for sending away those cruel nurses, anyhow! They were killing me.’

He then fell back in a quieter mood, merely adding: ‘You are sure you'll tell me all about Julia, and let her know how ill I am; then she'll come and see me; it would do me a world of good.’

She had not the heart to tell him that the young lady in question had refused to come near him, so she simply again promised, and got him off into a sound sleep, much to the astonishment of the professionals. As it was getting late she left word she would call again next day, and placing the flowers where they would meet his eye when he awoke, she returned home to tea.

Mrs Robinson and Julia made some very unpleasant remarks about her mode of spending the afternoon, but knowing it to be her duty, she cared little for them, for had she not solemnly promised the friendless youth—friendless, indeed, through his own folly—to be a sister to him? She had certainly a stronger feeling for him, but she had made up her mind at this time that she never could trust her life's happiness to a man like him; that she would never be more than a sister to him, but that she would be in spite of everyone. She would not leave him to the mercy of strangers in his helpless state. God send more of us such sisters, I say.