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Chapter XIV.

Naturally Jack Stanley's first idea was to make a noise so as to rouse Colonel Bradshaw or Bernard from slumber, but he found such a proceeding was quickly put a stop to; for although when the bony hand I have alluded to was removed from his mouth, he attempted a shout, half smothered in the blanket, any further noise was prevented by some thick bandage being placed over the lower part of his face above the blanket, so that he felt as if he were veritably going to be smothered. The heat was intense; the suddenness of the attack and capture very confusing to his brain; the smell of the blanket overpowering; and he could obtain no air excepting through his nostrils, so that he was painfully conscious of the stench until he fell into a dreamy half-sensible state; only sufficiently alive to his situation to know that some one was jogging forward with him in a monotonous way.

How long he thus travelled Jack did not know: it was page 136 broad daylight when the blanket was removed from his face. He had previously felt himself dragged through some narrow aperture, and then placed upon the ground.

Upon finding his mouth unencumbered, his first effort was to breathe two or three deep inspirations; then he attempted to sit up, but was unable to do so from having his arms as well as his legs tied. He made various ineffectual efforts, and at length gave it up in despair, and looked round him.

He was lying in a mud hut of larger dimensions than the generality of those used by the Maoris. The hut was lighted from the doorway, which was low but wide, and from the top where there was a hole to let out the smoke of the fire, of which there was a large fierce one burning, although the day was as warm as with us in July. Jack found that he was entirely alone; and the vague wonder which had possessed him from the moment of his capture, as to who could be the author of the outrage, returned now with greater strength as he looked round to see if he could, by the objects about him, gain any clue to the mystery.

But the hut gave no hint to Jack Stanley of who was its owner. He had, when in the pah, entered several of the huts of the Maoris, and this one seemed almost similar in construction to the rest, with the exception of being rather larger. There was a heap of potatoes in one corner of the floor, and some blankets thrown down carelessly on one side; no attempt at anything like furniture page 137 or comfort; and after a time he could do nothing but lie looking at the doorway wondering, until, overcome by the intense thirst which the heat and other annoyances had induced, his wondering was changed for longing for water.

It seemed as if he lay like that, neglected, for hours. I dare say it was not really nearly so long. He could, at times, hear footsteps passing close to the hut, and voices within hearing distance, as he thought; and then he would shout aloud for some one to come to him, but without success.

“Perhaps they have brought me here only to leave me to die,” thought Jack desparingly. “But why should they take me and not the Colonel or Hope? But how do I know? They may have secured them also, and carried them to some other hut. If I could only free my arms, I should not be so helpless.” And poor Jack vainly struggled with his bonds, by that means tightening them instead of gaining his wish, and putting himself to a great deal of unnecessary pain.

After a time he lay exhausted, with his eyes closed; nor did he open them again when he once more heard voices close, as it seemed, to the entrance of the hut. He was tired of shouting, and felt convinced that the indifference of those who came within hearing was of purpose.

It was not until he felt that some one had entered the hut that Jack opened his eyes, and looked blankly in the face of his visitor. It was a woman—young, and not page 138 positively ugly. I am afraid that is the most I can say of her. Her figure was slight and somewhat graceful, being attired in a positively clean and new mat, fringed and ornamented. Her hair was twisted on to the top of her head in a rather grotesque fashion, and in it she had mixed some flowers of a scarlet creeper, the Clianthus, which is common in the country; but her face was too much of the Maori type to excite any feeling of admiration in a European; still, amongst her own people, when Jack perceived the scarlet flowers and the ornamented flax mat, he felt convinced that the girl ranked as a beauty. She looked rather good-natured, and Jack ventured to say,

“Fetch me some water; pray do. I am half dead with thirst.”

The girl shook her head, for she did not understand one word he said. Then Jack motioned to his mouth as well as he could, by turning his head towards her and opening and shutting his lips, to show how parched they were.

The girl nodded, and then glanced furtively from side to side, as if afraid of being seen; then she left the hut. In a few minutes she returned with an iron pot filled with water, still as she entered looking to the right and left. Then she placed the pot upon her knee, and endeavoured to raise Jack's head. But that would not do; so she put down the pot again, and, lifting Jack by the shoulders with as much readiness as if she had been a man and he a child, she placed him against her knee, and then raised the pot to his lips. Of course, a great deal of the water page 139 was spilt on the ground by this method, and a great deal ran down Jack's neck and back; but he succeeded in swallowing some of it, and felt infinitely refreshed.

“Now, my good girl,” said Jack once more, speaking in the vain hope of making her understand him,—“my dear good girl, if you will only help me to get my arms loose, I would thank you to the rest of my days.”

But the girl shook her head hopelessly: she could not make out his meaning; or if she guessed it, she dared not help him. At the same moment another person made his appearance at the entrance of the tent. It was not a dignified way of coming in, for he was on all fours, because of the lowness of the doorway: first appeared a grey and very rough head of hair and two huge hands, followed by a mass of dirty blanket, which again was succeeded by a pair of long brown legs. All this together, when put into an erect position, assumed the likeness of the old tohunga, or Maori priest.

The truth of his position flashed across Jack Stanley's mind in a moment, when the old man stared at him and chuckled, looking supernaturally hideous. But the tohunga's first words were not addressed to Jack. He spoke sharply and rapidly to the girl, who appeared frightened, and hastily crawled out of the hut.

When she was gone, the old man came and stood by Jack, and chuckled again. Jack fixed his eyes full upon the face of the tohunga, returning his stare defiantly, until the old Maori said,

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“Well, you no afraid?”

“Afraid!” said Jack. “Not afraid of you, if that is what you mean. What is there to be afraid of?”

“Pakea hungry, eh?” retorted the old man, viciously. “Pakea thirsty, eh?” And at the second question he put his dirty old face closer to Jack's. “No laugh now, Pakea, eh?”

Jack made no answer, and the tohunga, after looking at him a little longer, gave him a sharp kick in the ribs, and grunting to himself, left the hut, giving Jack this time a back view of himself.

“So it is that vicious old fellow who has got hold of me,” mused Jack. “I might have suspected as much before. I wonder what they have done with the Colonel and Bernard? or whether they have brought them here, or let them go on their way? I wonder what they will think of my disappearance? What does that horrid old man intend to do with me? Starve me, perhaps. Fancy his speaking English all the while! He must have understood all I said when I was here—the old hypocrite!” Then Jack lay still for a while, half exhausted, and hardly caring even to think, excepting in a dreamy way.

But as the evening came on, and it became less oppressively hot, he revived somewhat, and the vague wandering which had occupied his mind returned. He was also by this time so hungry that the feeling amounted to actual pain. Yet no one came near him; and he was fast lapsing into insensibility when he felt something held against his page 141 mouth. Jack slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see the ugly face of the old tohunga, but was agreeably surprised to find that it was the young girl who had waited upon him before. She had a basket of cooked potatoes in her lap, and it was with one of these that she had aroused his attention. Jack ate greedily, for he was half starved; but anything like conversation was out of the question: the girl evidently could not understand a word that her companion said to her, and he gave up the attempt in despair.