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The Greenstone Door

Chapter XXV A Black Dawn

page 374

Chapter XXV A Black Dawn

All that night I spent in searching for the body of my father. Would that my efforts had proved successful! Of him as a participant in the battle I have said nothing, nor will I break that silence now. Many things were told to me, but, with the solitary exception of his care for the wounded—he was an excellent amateur surgeon—none could I wholly believe. I have tried in vain to realise him in the midst of that inferno of shot and shell; the book will not go down from his hand, the tender, whimsical smile will not pass out of his eyes; it is the book-lined room that holds him, not the redoubt nor the rifle-pit. And for that I give thanks to Heaven.

It was in the trenches they had excavated for their defence that we interred the bodies of the fallen warriors. But Rangiora and Puhi-Huia I laid apart from the rest. Death was kinder to them than life, for in death the desire of their hearts was realised and they lay for ever united. But neither swamp nor trench yielded the body I sought. That night and throughout the next day I followed the burial parties like a shadow. Not a corpse was laid in the ground until I had first looked upon the face of it, and so insistent was my demand to see every one that at length the soldiers came to regard my importunity as an institution and even to take satisfaction in furthering it.

At last the withered hope in my breast began again to page 375put forth leaves. Since the day I had delivered to him my letter of introduction, General Cameron had not again broached the subject of my father. I knew that his confidence in my own integrity was complete, for often he had let fall words of impatience to me, such as I never heard him speak to any other person, that showed how the soldier and the man conflicted within him. But he might very well feel sympathy for the natives and yet entertain a very different feeling for those who abetted them in their resistance, and I could by no means make up my mind that his silence on the matter that engrossed me denoted that it had passed from his recollection, or that he was willing to forget the rumours of which he had spoken to me. If my father were not among the dead—and of that I was at length convinced—then it was all the more necessary that I should find him. To quit the camp without authority was an act which my duty forbade, nor was I willing to revive the General's attention by any request of a merely personal nature. Only one means of escape from my difficulty offered, and of this I availed myself.

Every day parties left the camp to beat the country for miles around for signs of further resistance. Occasionally they brought in a prisoner, but for the most part the villages were deserted or were hastily evacuated on their approach. It was with one or other of these parties that I left the camp, losing my companions on the first opportunity, and thenceforth conducting my own researches in solitude. Acquainted with every trail and every village, I could move more rapidly and to better purpose than the troops, and the country which the company reported "clear of the enemy" was by no means always so to the solitary traveller. In this way I picked up a good deal of information with regard to the recent battle, and learnt that my father had certainly been among those who escaped and that he and Roma were yet living.

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One of the most indefatigable of the hunters was Captain Brompart. No officer of the force was more keen than he in the days following the siege, and many of those who had survived the dangers of retreat from Orakau fell victims to his vigilance. As a rule he was back at nightfall, haling his batch of captives—often quite inoffensive people, whose sole connection with the fighters was the fact that they were of the same tribes; but sometimes fifty or sixty hours would pass before the exhaustion of his supplies drove him from the fascinating sport. I joined none of his expeditions, partly because I distrusted his air of friendship, but mainly for the reason that his battues were always in the one direction, and that, as it seemed to me, the one least likely to be productive of what I sought.

Of all the spots in which my father might conceal himself until the hunt was over and the peace which every one expected was actually made, there seemed to me none less likely of selection than Matakiki. I could not imagine him so foolish or so careless as to return to his home while the British army lay within a score of miles of it; and it was therefore with no more than a passing apprehension that I learned that day after day Captain Brompart and his troopers haunted the Waipa river in the vicinity of my home. My own belief was that my father had made for the Maungatautari ranges, there to seek refuge in the kainga of Tamihana, than which he could probably find no safer retreat; and in consequence I chose by preference to ally myself with parties going in that direction.

It was on the morning of April 15 that, having fallen out from my company, I chanced on a small party of natives, from whom I obtained the first definite news. They not only knew of my father, but they had seen and parted from him within the last twenty-four hours. As I had conjectured, he had made for the ranges, there establishing himself in the pa of the King-Maker, and giving his voice page 377in the council—as throughout the campaign he had never ceased to do—for the making of peace. But it appeared that, after being settled there for rather more than a week, he awoke one morning to find his wife missing. Several hours were wasted in fruitless expectation of her return, before it became clear that she had left the settlement, and with a definite object. What that object was my father had no difficulty in guessing. I have spoken of the time when, many years before, we had abandoned our home on the pa to take possession of the newly constructed mansion on the river flat; how for months and even years afterwards she would climb the hill to weep in the ruins of the home to which her husband had brought her on her bridal day, and where her child was born. It was doubtless a similar impulse that actuated her now, and to that conclusion my father came. He delayed but to get together a few necessaries of travel, and already, said my informants, he must be within sight of his destination.

No sooner did I hear this unlucky news than as a lightning flash came on me the conviction that my passing apprehension of Captain Brompart's persistent search of the Matakiki district was justified, and that my father alone was the game for which he was seeking. Scarce pausing to say farewell to these innocent bearers of evil tidings, I turned on my heel and set off at a pace that was almost a run on the long trail for home. It was yet early in the day, and I did not doubt that, if nothing came to interfere with my progress, I could accomplish the distance before nightfall.

Of that journey I remember only the mental agony that accompanied it. Of the things around me I took no heed; my mind was already at the end of the road, busying itself with every possibility. Would this be one of the rare days when Brompart lay idling in camp? Surely he had searched Matakiki often enough to be away at this page 378critical juncture. If he were only a mile away it would suffice. Fortune stood to me so far that the sun had not yet disappeared behind Pirongia when, breasting the last fern-hill, I came in sight of the beloved and familiar scene. A wave of anguish came over me as I gazed, for there rose before me visions of Puhi-Huia in her flower garden, and her I should never see again. But stern work was before me, and, brushing the tears from my eyes, I plunged into the bush that intervened between the open country and the river.

The first things my eyes encountered as I emerged from the bush were the horses of the troopers tethered in the orchard. I knew then, instinctively, as surely as I was to learn within the next few minutes, that the worst had happened. A number of troopers were sitting a short distance down the stream, bathing their feet in the water, and to them I called to ferry me across.

One of their number complied, and from him I received confirmation of my fears. "They've got that chap Purcell" said he; "found him on the top of the hill with his missus. They're tryin' of him now."

Waiting for no more, I sprang to land, and, directed by the sight of the sentry in the doorway of the produce shed, ran up the roadway and burst without ceremony into the building.

Standing unbound in the midst of a number of troopers was my foster-father. Roma sat crouched at his feet. At the head of an improvised table sat Captain Brompart, with the officers of his company to right and left.

He was the first to break the silence that followed my abrupt entry. "Always pleased to see you, Tregarthen," he said; "but I may mention that this room is private."

"Then it is you who are breaking its privacy," I answered, pulling forward a box and seating myself.

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"I should have said our business is private," he corrected himself mildly. "This is a military court."

"And I am entitled to be present at it as one of the public," I responded. I had, indeed, no knowledge of military law, but then I doubted if he were any better provided, and, in any case, my determination to be present was as fixed as the heavens.

Whether he had any real objection to my presence I cannot say. Possibly he had spoken merely to preserve appearances, and in his heart rejoiced that I was to be a witness of his vengeance. I cannot help it, reader, if I make this man a monster. They tell me that a human being without one good trait is to be found only in fiction. All I know is that even now, after forty years, I write of this man as I feel.

"Then we will proceed with the evidence," he said, clearing his throat; and he turned towards Roma. "You have said that your husband was present with the rebels at Orakau, that he remained in the pa during the whole of the engagement, and that he finally retreated in company with Raureti, Rewi, and others of its defenders. Is that so?"

"Ai, pono tena" (Yes, that is true), replied Roma.

"You remember the pa at Paterangi?"

"Ai."

"Was the prisoner among the natives who occupied that position?"

"Ai."

I moved restlessly at these confirmatory replies. Surely, said my impatience, Roma should have denied everything. But a glance at my father's face led to a relinquishment of the thought, He was looking placidly down upon her, his eyes very gentle under their fierce grey brows. I knew that no word but the truth would be spoken in his defence.

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I should mention that these questions, though put in English, were translated into the vernacular by a sergeant of the corps, whose dark skin betrayed his mixed descent. I was keenly on the alert for any error in the interpretations.

"In short, your husband was associated with the natives in their resistance to the Queen's troops," continued the inquisitor; "he sat in their councils and participated in their battles?"

"Why not?" asked Roma, rising to her feet, and looking round the faces at the table, as though for the first time the significance of the proceedings had come home to her. "He is a chief of the Ngatimaniapoto."

It was an unfortunate defence, and I knew by the sudden glitter in Brompart's eyes and the slight movements of the others that its effect was far other than the unhappy woman had contemplated.

"That will do," said Brompart. "Sergeant Wren, attend to me."

"Yes, sir," said the half-caste interpreter briskly, turning towards the table.

"You were for some time a clerk in the employ of Brompart Brothers of Auckland?"

"I was, sir."

"The accounts of the firm came under your notice, and among others the account of the prisoner's dealings with your employers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you notice any items for arms and ammunition?"

"Yes, sir. A good many."

"Be[gap — reason: invisiable] or after the enactment which prohibited the sale of arms to the natives?"

"Both before and after."

"And you say there were a good many of these entries. Can you tell us how many?"

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"Not exactly, sir. I should say there were between twenty and thirty."

"Thank you. That will do."

"One moment, Sergeant Wren," said I, springing to my feet. "You say that these charges were for arms and ammunition. How do you know?"

For a moment his glibness deserted him, but in the next instant he had turned with a smile to the captain. "Because I can read, sir," he said.

"Of course," said Bramport, quickly, with an answering snigger. "And now—"

"Pardon me," I said. "Sergeant Wren tells us he can read; perhaps he will tell us what he did read?"

"I read the word guns," said the man, defiantly; "guns and powder."

"It is a lie," I cried hotly. "I, too, am familiar with the account he speaks of, and I swear that no such items are to be found in it."

"Nevertheless the statement of the man is true in substance, Cedric," said my father gently. "I did purchase arms through the medium of this firm."

"That settles it, then," said Brompart. "The fact of the purchase is admitted. Call Hone Tahai."

Now Hone Tahai was a native of Matakiki, a common fellow of low repute in the settlement, on whose evidence I would not have hanged a dog. He had surrendered to the British shortly after the evacuation of Paterangi, and by certain, doubtless unworthy, services had gained complete freedom so long as he remained in the precincts of the headquarters camp. The trooper told off to call him must have found him in the immediate vicinity, for he was back in little over a minute, the new witness with him.

"Your name is Hone Tahai? You are a resident of this place, Matakiki? You know the prisoner, Purcell, and have had dealings with him?"

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To each of these statements Hone responded in the affirmative.

"Among other purchases made at the prisoner's store you bought from him, on May 15 last, two rifles and a box of a hundred cartridges?"

"Yes."

"That is untrue, Hone," said my father mildly.

The wretch hung his head and shuffled with his feet, but he did not retract the statement, and on being again questioned reaffirmed the truth of what he had said.

"The man never had the price of a rifle in his life," I said contemptuously.

Brompart paid no attention to me, but, having exchanged a few words with those near him, announced that the witness's evidence was accepted. "The Court will now retire to consider its verdict," he added.

"What!" I cried. "Before it has first heard the defence?"

"The prisoner may speak in his own behalf if he wishes to do so," he replied, after a moment's hesitation.

"I have only these things to say," said my father. "In the first place I deny that this is a properly constituted military court and that it has power to try me for my life; in the second, I deny that I am a British subject. I was in this country before—if ever—it became a possession of the Queen's, and I have lived here for upwards of thirty years without once seeing a shadow of her civil authority in the district. Lastly, though I have shared the sorrows of the natives, I have fired no shot in their quarrel, and persistently and at all times I have urged the making of peace. Not that I have thought the native cause an unworthy one, but because I remembered the weakness of its supporters. I have nothing more to say."

Again Brompart affected to consult with those around him. "As to the power of this court," he said at last, page 383"I take the responsibility for its actions. You have denied that you are a British subject, but you were bom one, and you cannot cast off your allegiance at pleasure. Whether or no you have fired upon the Queen's troops is best known to your own conscience, but there is overwhelming evidence that you made it possible for others to do so and stood by while it was being done. The court will now consider its verdict."

In silence they filed out, and for ten minutes we were left to our own reflections.

I could feel my father's eyes upon me, but it was long before he spoke, and then in such a quiet voice that we might have been in the old book-lined room alone together.

"You buried her, Cedric?"

"Yes, father; her and Rangiora together."

He was silent a moment. "Whether or not there is another world," he said musingly, "there is need of it, for there is much that is out of sorts in this."

He was thinking of the unhappy lovers, oblivious of his own fate hanging in the balance. He did not speak to me again directly, but addressed himself to the cheering of Roma, who, again crouched on the floor, was moaning and rocking herself to and fro.

At length a movement on the part of the sentry in the doorway heralded the return of the judges, and once more they took their seats round the table. A dead silence followed; even the troopers, whose interest was as nothing, stood in rigid attention as Brompart turned his eyes on the prisoner and moistened his lips preparatory to speaking.

"Prisoner," he said, "the court has found you guilty of treason in that, being a British subject, you took up arms against the Queen's forces and aided and abetted her enemies in the field. For this crime you are sentenced to be shot. The sentence will be carried into effect at dawn."

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The room had been slowly growing darker with the decline of day, but now of a sudden it was as black as night. With a fierce effort I stilled the wild beating of my heart and moved forward to the table.

"Brompart," I said, "do you forget that you, and for many years your father before you, were the trusted representatives of this man, whom so calmly, even cheerfully, you now sentence to death?"

"Personal feelings," he replied, "must not be allowed to interfere with my solemn duty. And after all, for the money we received, we returned an equivalent in services."

"For all of it, Frederick Brompart?" my father asked, with the faintest note of sternness in his voice.

His face took on a dusky hue, and then for the first time I understood why our connection with his firm had come so abruptly to an end.

"The Court is dissolved," he said in a high voice. "Remove the prisoner." And, coming quickly down the building, he passed out into the open air.

But I could not let him go so, and following in his footsteps, overtook him ere he had gone a dozen yards. For the sake of that life, a hundredfold dearer than my own, I who in my own case would have laughed him to scorn, was content to crawl in the dust at his feet.

"Fred," I cried, catching him by the arm and speaking in a voice I could myself scarcely recognise, "why are you doing this thing? Is it because we fought and quarrelled as boys that you would revenge yourself upon me now by taking my father's life? Tell me."

"Why, what an idea!" he replied. "Did we fight and quarrel as boys? But your father's is a serious offence: you don't seem to recognise how serious. If such actions were tolerated—"

"Brompart, you know in your soul that it is because of your hatred of me."

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"I know no such thing. You seem incapable of listening to reason."

"Reason! Good God! But I won't wrangle with you. Consider. You are taking a fearful responsibility. Your court is a farce. Why, if you have no personal feelings, should you shoulder the responsibility? What is the reason for your hurry? Take your prisoner to General Cameron and save yourself trouble hereafter."

"I have General Cameron's warrant for what I am doing."

"His warrant! Then show it me."

"The matter has been thoroughly discussed in all its bearings."

"How is that possible when the General has heard neither the prosecution nor the defence?"

"He deputed me——"

"Brompart, you are lying. That is, you are mistaken. Listen——"

"I can spare no more time to argue the matter. Besides, you are too agitated to consider the thing fairly. Do you suppose if my conscience did not approve——"

"Your conscience, you devil!"

By an adroit movement he evaded me and my hands clutched the empty air.

I could have bitten my tongue off for those words, and yet if my hands had closed on his flesh I might have killed him. I hastened after him, calling his name, humbling myself in the agony and terror of my soul, but he took no heed, disappearing with a word to the sentry into the store. The man would not let me pass, and when I attempted to brush past him thrust me back with the butt of his rifle.

Night fell, moonless and overcast. The troopers had built a fire on the river bank. I could hear their gay voices as they sat round the blaze. There was a smell of cooking in the air.

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The thing could not be!

Again and again I sought to gain admittance to the officers' quarters. Good-natured troopers carried my messages to Brompart, but he refused to see me. The thought that I might win him over with money gave me hope until note after note—offering him finally everything I possessed in return for my father's freedom—were returned to me unread and unopened. At last, by verbal message, I begged permission to see my father, and this was accorded me.

He was confined in a little building erected at the back of the house for the storage of tools. It would have been useless as a prison but for the armed guard at the door. He had an open book in his hand as I entered, and a circumstance that gave me almost a sensation of awe was that in the glimpse I caught of him before he was aware of my presence he gave me the impression of being absorbed in what he read. Indeed, he spoke of the volume as he put it aside.

"It is well that our friend Bacon chose to glorify action rather than being," he said; "for according to the philosophy of Plato he would have made but a poor showing."

"Oh, father!" I cried, taking his hand and holding it between my own, "talk not to me of books; tell me only how I may save your life."

"You cannot, my son," he said gravely. "There is no way unless Brompart relents; and even then it is but to defer the end."

"Why should he desire your death? When he robbed you, why did you not prosecute him?" "Ah, why! It was bad citizenship.' "Father, if you have no care for your life, have compassion on my misery. Tell me what I can do." "Life is no less desirable to me than to other men," page 387he said, "but I recognise the inevitable when I am in front of it. There is a fire in this man's heart that nothing we can do will quench. Be at peace, rny son. It is but to forestall by a few years an inevitable natural event. Come, let me hear your adventures. Only within the last few weeks have I learned of your captivity, Te Atua is dead. Brompart himself will die."

But I could not answer him. There was no room in my mind for any but the one thought that within a few hours he was to die. I pressed his hand and told him that I would come back, and so returned to the attempt to placate the fiend who held us in his toils. But I could neither see him nor induce him to read my notes.

By this time the men of the troop had come to an understanding of the position. As I wandered hither and thither, unable to rest for an instant in any one place, many of them gave me a rough word of compassion or advice.

"Come and sit by the fire." "If you could manage to eat a snack." "I'll go if you like, but it's no damn good. He won't even touch them."

At last one of them took me by the arm and led me a few paces out of the hearing of his comrades. "Look here, old chap," he said. "Why not go to General Cameron? He might give you a reprieve, if he don't do anything else."

"It's impossible," I replied, standing, still and staring into the blackness. "I could hardly get there, let alone return in time."

"But," he whispered, "if you copped a horse, I'll smuggle a saddle down to the river bank. It's just possible you might do it, if you don't waste time thinking you can't."

"God bless you!—God bless you!"

"Right! That's all right. You get hold of the horse. There's a real good one with a pair of white stockings just page 388beyond the pine tree. Take him down to the water. I'll meet you."

My heart was on fire with excitement as, having swum the animal across the river behind the canoe, I squeezed the hand of my benefactor and climbed into the saddle.

"Good-bye and good luck!" he cried. A moment later I was on the pitch-black darkness of the forest trail.

I had barely eight hours to go and return, and on a made road, however poor its condition, it would have been an easy feat; but for two-thirds of the distance the way was but a narrow track, not easy to follow in the daytime, and by night full of difficulties. There were stretches, miles long, where neither persuasion nor brutality, and I used both, would induce my horse to adopt a faster pace than a walk.

It was two o'clock in the morning as, on a good road at last, I thundered through the village of Te Awamutu and sprang from the saddle at the door of the General's house. Fortunately the officer of the guard, attracted by the noise of my approach, had not to be summoned, and after one or two questions, to which I replied only that my business was of the utmost urgency, he consented to wake the commandant.

Within five minutes I was summoned to the General's room. He was only partly dressed, and sleep—and, I am afraid, annoyance—were in his eyes. Rapidly I told my story and made my request.

He regarded me attentively, making no comment until I spoke of the illegality of the proceedings, when he said: "This country is under martial law. Had he caused the man to be shot without even the form of trial you speak of, it would not be an act without precedent."

"Yet, sir," I pleaded, "with his commanding officer close at hand and no necessity for hurry——"

"Yes. Well, I will do as you wish." He drew pen page 389and paper towards him, and, on the point of writing, glanced at the clock. "But," he asked, "if he is to be shot at dawn, what hope have you of being in time to prevent it? When did you leave?"

I told him, and he tapped off the hours on his ringers lifting his brows with astonishment. Then he turned to and wrote with alacrity.

"I must hope you will succeed, Mr. Tregarthen," he said, as he sealed the envelope and handed it to me; "but I am afraid there is disappointment in store for you. However, don't let me detain you another moment."

With a fervent word of thanks, I sped from the room, and hastening to my horse, again woke the echoes of the quiet village with the noise of his flying feet.

Ah, that return journey! Let me have done with it in a few words. Joy and fear fevered and chilled me. Often I saw the east blazing with light when only the darkness reigned there. On and on I struggled, sparing neither my own body nor that of my steed. Half the distance was accomplished—three-fourths, and still the blessed night prevailed. All through the skies had been densely masked with cloud; but now, as I essayed the last quarter of my journey, stars began to break forth with promise of a clear sky at sunrise. At first I could not keep my eyes from the east, but towards the end I dared not look at it. It was not the sky but the earth that at length convinced my unwilling mind of the approach of day. And there was still the bush to be accomplished. Easier and easier became the track; swifter and swifter went my horse's feet among the knotted roots. A bird gave a sleepy chuckle overhead. At last I heard the sound of the river, and, springing from my horse's back, I left him standing there and ran with all speed to the water's edge.

Clear light lay over Matakiki and on the summit of the page 390pa was the first gold of the rising sun. I could see a crowd of moving figures near the store, and even as I was on the point of plunging into the water, it took under my gaze an order full of dread significance. I saw the firing-party halted in line, my father facing them, his back to the wall; the officers in a little group to one side; the troopers, a larger group, to the other.

With a loud shout I flung up my hand, waving full in their view the message of reprieve. Many eyes were turned towards me. I could hear the voices of the troopers calling attention to my presence, and from the motions of the officers judged that they too were urging the advisability of delay. But Brompart gave no heed. I saw the rifles of the firing-party brought to the present. I saw the puff of smoke and heard the sound of the shots that took his life.

And I had not bid him good-bye!

And I remembered all he had done for me!

I stood stock-still like a creature turned to stone, and for nine months thereafter I remember no more.