The words were hardly out of his mouth, when a sudden veering of the wind drew the scud from the sea and confined it to the crest of the rocky, wooded cliff under which the Maoris stood. The sea lay exposed, grey and foaming; but it was not on the sea that the men’s eyes were riveted. There, in the roaring, rushing tide, a ship lay helpless on the rocks.
Enoko peered, as though he mistrusted the sight of his eye—he had but one. Tahuna ran to the hut, and called, “Come out, both of you. There’s a ship on the rocks!”
From the hut issued two sleepy female forms, the one that of the chief’s wife, the other that of a pretty girl. The former was a typical Maori wahine of the better class, with regular features and an abundance of long black hair; the latter was not more than eighteen years old, of a lighter complexion, full-figured, and with a good-natured face which expressed grief and anxiety in every feature. “Oh!” she exclaimed, as a great wave broke over the helpless ship, “the sailors will be drowned. What can we do?”
“Amiria,” said the chief to her, “go back to the pa, and tell the people to come and help. We three,”—he pointed to his wife, Enoko and himself—“will see what we can do.”
“No,” replied the girl, “I can swim as well as any of you. I shall stay, and help.” She ran along the beach to the point nearest the wreck, and the others followed her.
Tahuna, standing in the wash of the sea, cried out, “A rope! A rope! A rope!” But his voice did not penetrate ten yards into the face of the gale.
Then all four, drenched with spray, shouted together, and with a similar result.
“If they could float a rope ashore,” said the chief, “we would make it fast, and so save them.”
The vessel lay outside a big reef which stretched between her and the shore; her hull was almost hidden by the surf which broke over her, the only dry place on her being the fore-top, which was crowded with sailors; and it was evident that she must soon break up under the battering seas which swept over her continually.
“They can’t swim,” said the chief, with a gesture of disgust. “The pakeha is a sheep, in the water. We must go to them. Now, remember: when you get near the ship, call out for a rope. We can drift back easily enough.”