Story 3--Chapter XV.
Seeking Aid.
Slowly up the sheep-track toiled the minister’s pony with its sad burden.
Seeing how painful was any attempt at consolation to the stricken woman, Mr Meadows dropped behind, thoughtfully gazing around from time to time, and whenever from a turn of the road there was a view of the rifled hut, pausing to take a long and sorrowful look at the ruins of the once happy home. But not once did he draw the attention of Mrs Lee to the scene.
How he thought of the quiet Eden-like aspect of the place as he had descended that toilsome way; the picturesque house, with its sheep and cattle dotted about; but now, though the scene was the same, and a clump of trees often hid from view the ruined house, yet how changed all seemed to his weary gaze!
Catching the pony’s bridle, when he had regained his place by its side, he began to try and hurry its pace, but without effect. Making, therefore, a virtue of necessity, they trudged slowly on until, with a sigh of relief, the ravine which led over the summit was reached, the view of Golden Gap shut out, and the next valley beginning to open before them.
What should he do? Go from station to station, telling the terrible news, and summoning the settlers to take arms for the purpose of crushing an enemy that might assault each farm in turn, or hurry on to the settlement at Kaitaka Bay, and there spread the alarm?
His reason told him that this latter would be the slower process, while if he trusted to the settlers in these far-off regions, the news would set them aflame, and they would muster readily. There would be no cumbrous arrangements for the expedition, but each man would seize his piece and mount horse, ready to join the little levy, and help to drive the invader from the neighbourhood of his home—the home which each had won for himself from the wilderness, and which was now in danger from these marauders.
He halted for a while by the side of one of the many streams, pressing upon his companion food and rest beneath the shady foliage, and watched her in the hope that sleep would visit the weeping woman—a short halt being absolutely necessary, on account of the ruggedness of their path, the excessive heat in the ravines, and the distance they had to travel.
Seeing, however, that Mrs Lee’s thoughts were wholly upon bringing rescue to her child, they were soon again upon their way, and before many hours were over, receiving the hearty welcome of a bluff settler, who with his wife and child stood at his door to receive the travellers.
“Glad to see you, Mrs Lee,” he exclaimed. “And where’s Martin? Parson Meadows, too! But what’s wrong? Why, you’ve got a cut on the head there, and—what does it all mean?”
Mr Meadows led him aside, wondering, as he saw Mrs Lee throwing herself sobbing into his wife’s arms. The business was soon explained, and the settler’s hearty English face grew stern and overcast.
“Heaven preserve us!” he muttered. “Poor Martin Lee! and it might have been here first! But are you in earnest, parson? Convicts?—landed? What should they come here for?”
“Spoil!—plunder!—desolation!” replied Mr Meadows.
The settler drew his guest into the house, forced him into a chair, and then dashed out of the room, shouting to a couple of his men. Ten minutes after, two stout well-mounted fellows galloped off in different directions.
“Mr Meadows,” said the settler, returning to where he had left his visitor, “I couldn’t go myself and leave them, or I’d have been one of those to gallop off; but the news will spread fast, and by morning we shall have a gathering here, I hope, that shall crush out these blood-thirsty locusts. Don’t think me unneighbourly that I did not go myself.”
“A man’s first worldly duty is to his wife and children, friend Lawler,” said Mr Meadows. “I blame you not, for we may perchance even yet have to fight for them before help comes.”
“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed the settler; but he took down with nervousness fowling-piece and rifle, and began to wipe and oil them ready for service.
“I’d almost ask you to help in a time of need like this,” he continued, “but for your cloth.”
“Help, friend Lawler! Yes, I’ll help; for I have already turned man of war in defence of the Moa’s Nest, and am afraid that I did some mischief amongst these men you call locusts; but they deserved it all, I fear.”
“Fear, parson!” exclaimed the other. “I would that you had had the scoundrels in a row, so that one bullet would have killed the lot! It would have been the best message of peace you ever sent through the district.”
“But had I not better ride in some other direction to summon help? If you could lend me another horse, I would gladly go: Joey, my pony, is slow, and not suited to the work.”
The settler mused for a few moments.
“You might ride to Black Rock!” he returned. “It will be a dark journey, and a long one; but the Allens would come to a man, and all stanch fellows, who can use a rifle.”
“Put on the saddle, and give me a morsel of bread; for no time should be lost. You will be kind to our poor afflicted sister.”
“Kind!” was the reply, in such a tone that the clergyman smiled gently, and pressed the rough hand extended to him.
Half-an-hour after, he was in the saddle and galloping in the direction of Black Rock.
He was no mean horseman, and mile after mile was left behind, till the darkness and the increasing difficulties of the road compelled him to go more slowly—at a rate, indeed, that but ill accorded with the impatience of his spirit, now that he was in some degree rested and refreshed. For, during the early part of his journey from the Moa’s Nest, he had suffered from a strange feeling of oppression, due to his late sufferings; but this was fast wearing off. And now, troubled in mind about the fate of those he sought to save, he once more pushed on, till the broken ground again compelled him to draw rein.
Long residence, and occasional visits from station to station, had made him pretty familiar with the roads; and as the horse picked its way along the stony part they were passing, he began to calculate how many men could be mustered; how long it would be before help could be afforded; and whether that help would be in time.
He pressed his horse forward as these last thoughts came, until he was again progressing at a long swinging gallop. He had been some three or four times to Black Rock, but not by this road, which was not familiar to him; but, keeping to the track, he pressed on till it seemed to end in a stony wilderness, when he once more had to draw rein; for the rugged path required careful riding. Here the track seemed almost lost; but just in front two valleys opened out, and in his directions his host had told him to take the left—no, the right—no, the left. Was it to the left? His head must be weak and confused, he told himself; for the settler had explained exactly and carefully the route he should follow.
He grew excited as he recalled the importance of his making speed, and at last drew up, pained and troubled. He essayed to go a little way along the valley to the right, but in a doubtful fashion; and, drawing rein at the end of a mile, he rode hastily back, feeling assured that he was wrong; and on reaching the headland that separated the valleys, he urged his steed onward, peering eagerly in advance the while, in search of some tokens of civilised man.
He was angry with himself for the mistake he had made—wasting minutes that might prove to have been of inestimable value; but he felt that he must soon reach the settlement now, since it was situated in the bottom of the valley, and could not be missed even by a traveller by night.
On past long park-like sweeps of rich land, varied by portions where the valley closed in till huge nestling crags, crowned with glorious vegetation, made darker the way he traversed, and seemed threatening to topple over upon the traveller; but still no signs of civilisation: no shepherd’s hut, no folding hurdles, no cattle—all solitary and grand. Twice the idea occurred to him that he must, after all, be wrong; but he rejected or crushed down the thought, and hurried his horse along; for it had begun to show signs of fatigue.
Then Mr Meadows allowed the reins to fall upon the poor beast’s neck, while he tried to think out the best course to pursue.
But little reflection sufficed to make him understand his position—he had been mistaken in the route he was to have pursued. He sighed heavily as he acknowledged his failing; for it was but too true. With Katie Lee in the hands of the convicts, and that young man awaiting the succour he was to bring, he had wandered from the right path, and travelled miles upon miles out of his way.