Chapter XV.

“Evidently I am not to be starved,” thought Jack, after the Maori girl had left him. “But what can be that old Maori's object in keeping me here?”

It was odd that Jack Stanley, of all people, should not have ascribed the tohunga's conduct to revenge. He once more looked carefully round the hut, and after a time recognized, amongst the dirty heap I have mentioned before, his own blanket, the one he had been wrapped in at the time of his capture; after a few minutes, also, he perceived his gun.

“Ah,” thought he, “if I can only escape with my gun, I could live in the woods, perhaps, until I find Bernard and the Colonel, or till I make my way back to the Colonel's place. But I must first get free.”

That was the thing: first to get free; and at the mere thought of it Jack writhed about, striving to break the cords which bound him, and in so doing tightened them all the more. First to get free—to get off these flaxen page break page break

Friends in need.

page 143 ropes, seize his blanket and gun, and escape in the darkness of the night. Jack acted over the scene in his own mind so many times that at length he almost forgot whether it was only a daydream, or whether he was really running at his full speed through the Maori pah, with the tohunga and his followers at his heels; and he shook himself into confused wakefulness again of the closeness, and the smell, and the noises of the hut; for there were noises around him now—loud snores, intermingled with grunts and snorts; and as day was once more breaking, he became aware that the tohunga and two others were in the room besides himself. These two others were the young girl who had ministered to Stanley's wants, and a young man. His features seemed familiar to Jack, but it was not until a few minutes had passed that he identified him with the young man whose portrait he had himself taken, and whom Colonel Bradshaw had mentioned as a slave. This man was unlike the generality of the Maoris that Jack had seen, being of much lighter complexion, with light hair and blue eyes, such as many of the New Zealanders of the tribes farther in the interior of the island have; he had also a more intelligent and pleasanter cast of countenance than most of those around him.

Stanley gazed intently on this young man; but he took no notice of his gaze. Probably the presence of the priest prevented him from doing so. He kept his eyes fixedly upon the heap of potatoes, which he and the Maori girl were occupied in sorting into two heaps.

The old tohunga stood looking on, helping in nothing: probably he thought it was beneath his dignity to do anything; but every now and then he spoke to one or the other of his companions, in a voice the reverse of amiable.

“I wish the old wretch would leave the hut,” mused Jack. “Perhaps, if he finds I am awake, he will remain here for the pleasure of bullying me.” And Jack closed his eyes again.

Presently he heard the old man say the word “pakea” more than once, and next he felt the wretch's foot administer a kick again in his defenceless ribs. Jack, however, only groaned, and kept his eyes closed; and a moment afterwards, he had the satisfaction of hearing the priest move towards the doorway.

As soon as he was gone, the young man and the girl began chattering together as if, as was the case, the departure of their late companion was a great relief to them. Then Jack Stanley opened his eyes, and looked at the two; and in another moment the young man perceived that he was awake, and walked to his side.

“Pakea, wake!” said he.

“Do you speak English?” exclaimed Jack. “Oh, you are not a heathen priest; you are young! you must have some feelings. Do help me! untie these cords.” And Jack once more struggled with his bands.

He had spoken so rapidly, that it was no wonder the Maori hardly understood his words; but no one could page 145 misinterpret his actions or mistake the agonized expression of Jack's face.

The young man knelt down by his side, and laid his hand upon Jack's bound arms, and said in a low voice,

“Struggle make ropes tight, Pakea. See—look—ah! ah!” and he pointed to Jack's wrists, which were raw and bleeding from the pressure of the cords.

“You will help me?” asked Jack, eagerly.

The young man glanced anxiously towards the entrance, as if he feared the old tohunga might return unexpectedly, and then said,

“Yes, yes, Pakea; I Christian too. Pakea Christian?”

“Of course I am,” answered Jack, without thinking of how much was meant by his answer. “I am an Englishman, you know.” The young man said no more; and Jack presently asked, “Couldn't you take off these ropes?”

“Not yet—tohunga seeing,” said the man.

He tried, however, to loosen them, so that they should give less pain to the prisoner.

“Give me, at least, something to eat,” said Jack. “The tohunga does not intend to starve me, I suppose?”

The Maori shook his head doubtfully; but he answered after a few minutes' consideration,

“Yuata bringing food in a little,” and he turned to the girl and spoke to her in their own language; whereupon she left the tent.

Jack was so famished for hunger, that he kept his eyes page 146 anxiously upon the entrance, watching for the girl's return—too faint even to talk to the Maori, or to think over the prospect which his words held out.

The girl was not gone long; and when she returned, she carried in her arms a dish of something hot. It was more than potatoes by the smell, and Jack thought it must be delicious, whatever it might be. How little he imagined then, or as he swallowed eagerly the pieces the girl held to his mouth, that it was nothing more nor less than putrid shark; the very thought of eating which had made Jack's nose, in brighter days, “turn up visibly,” as Colonel Bradshaw said.

But if travelling brings us, as they say, acquainted with strange bedfellows, it also certainly introduces us to most eccentric kinds of food.

Being refreshed considerably by the food, Jack attempted to renew his conversation with the young Maori; and as the other seemed nothing loth, they were getting on pretty well together, considering the drawback of the man's very imperfect knowledge of English, when everything was put a stop to by the entrance of the old priest, who, after storming in Maori language for a few minutes, hit the slave across the face with a basket he held in his hand, and then proceeded to kick Jack Stanley in the ribs.