SPANISH CHERRIES

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 2, Issue 235, 8 November 1940, Page 2

SPANISH CHERRIES

A TAjLE OF THE EARLY DAYS 33y Joyce West in "The Australia!! Journal." . If you drive in December alona the main highway between Rotoru; and Whakatane, by the blue-Jake shores of Roto-Iti and Roto-Ehu, the .small brown Maori children wil stop your car and offer to sell yov 3ittie flax-woven baskets of Spanisl /cherries. The fruit is small and ret and luscious, with an odd,, lingerin*. .tang, so that you cannot completely forget it, but years later,, and thou- ► sands of miles away, on thirst} you find your, mind tiirninii back to New Zealand and the Lake Country and the Murillo cherries by the shore of Roto-Iti. The trees are very old, bowed ant gnarledj weathered S re Y by the l° n S years of frost and rain and sunshine They were planted as slender little whips away back in the old days ■ when the black-robed French Catholic missionaries sought to spread ' the religion of the Cross among the grim, dignified . fighting people o< the Rotorua uplands. - When the brave littletwigs broke into blossom in the southern spring in that unhomelike-country by the strange lake shores where the swiftrunning springs boiled opal and jade green- out of the trembling rocks., and the great steam-plumes burgeoned upward against the sombre face oi the bush-clad mountains, the hearts of the exiles must have turned wistfully back to their own blue Pro-vencal-country, with its grey stone w r alls running by peaceful villages and wide-spreading olive groves glistening kindly in the sunlight. The missionaries are gone now anei their little waysiele shrines have vanished, but the cherry trees stil blossom in the lakesiele settlement; besiele the white sand and the stearr plumes and the elc-ep Italian blue ol the mountain water. But this is a tale of the days whev ' the Spanish cherry groves were ir their prime. It begins with Lieutenant Desmond Somers riding the Colonel': chestnut mare along the Rotorm road. In the heart of the bush behind Roto-Iti, nearer to that grin old'volcano, Tarawera, lies three miles of water as green as liquie emerald. It is Roto-Kakahi, whict the white man prosaically ■ calls Green Lake. It is a strange spot, un hallowed by five centuries of sor- " eery anel savagery.. A headland or the south-west shore is the. site ol the ancient Maori fortress of -Kaiteriria, so old, so fabled, that it is almost a lengenelary place. In the ; days of the Spanish cherries it was the headquarters of the Arawa Constabulary Force. The Constabulary was a local Militia, with officers drawn from the finest British regiments. If y r ou say that you have neyer heard of Lieutenant Desmond Somers,, I 'will tell you that his real name was something'quite different. It was an old English Army name—a name that lives to this day; I' will not put it down here, for he has left grand- . ■ children who might be shocked oy this strange, colourful, violent story out of a respectably buried past. Desmond Somers reined in the Colonel's mare under the cherry trees. He was w r eary anel warm, and the reel luscious fruit was most inviting. But Miranda was extremely anxious to be gelling back to camp; she had come a long way, and her glossy reel coat was screaked with sweat anel w T hiteneel by the fine pumice elust. She had no apprecia- • tion at all for the white shelling beach anel the lake waters, blue as a peacock's throat, with the dim, blue mountains he-yonel. She wanted her oats. She fidgeted, wheeling away with a flirt of her iron-shod lioofs anel a: toss of her red mane. At that moment her rider saw a girl coming through the. cherry trees. She was a slim, brown, young woman with black hair falling in two braids. She wore a curio'us mingling of Maori and European garb, a cheap blouse of Manchester cotton, a skirt of exquisitely elyeel and patterned flax, a braieleel ,fibre band around her brow. Her feet were bare and she walked easily. "Shall l pick the cherries for you?' she saicl in "English. Lieutenant Desmond Somers' sunburned face reddened from the chinstrap of his helmet up to the roots of his hair. '' "Thank you . . ." he stammered. "I was thinking of these as wild trees. I didn't realise that they might belong to. somebody.. Are they yours?'* - v • "The trees are growing on my •grandfather's lanel," the girl, corrected.him. "But Goel gives the fruit, and that is for thirsty travellers."

Her precise and oddly-intonatef English made Desmond feel almos as though he was moving in a dream He dismounted and jerked Ins helmet off and stood hare-headed in th< sun before the mare's shoulder. Tin girl came to him with her hand' filled with cherries, and he tool' them from her and ate them —smaV red, luscious Iruit with a tanj; which he would never again he able to forget. She walked beside him, quite easily and naturally, as he turned u iead the mare back to the road. Hei head Avas on a level with his shoulder; she walked beautifully, with : free stride almost as long as his, They moved together down tin white pumice track beside the lalu that was peacock-blue in the sunshine, Avith the mountains lyini dreaming beyond it. "Do you come from the Constabulary Camp?" she asked. "Yes," he :;aid. "My name is Desmond Somers." "My name is Are~o." He repeated the musical syllable .slowly," and then added, stammering a little: ."Would . . . Avould you think me very rude if I asked lioaa you come to epeak English so' beautifully?" She smiled at that. "Wheal I Ava ; small 1] lived in the housa of the mi* sionaries.< NoaV' I am groAvn I hav: returned to my grandfather. Mj grandfather is a chief." "I should haA 7 c thought that/' sak Desmond Somers, not as an idle com pliment, but as a statement of - fact They had come to the parting ol .their Avays. Arero hesitated an instant as she Avas about to turn dowr the narroAv track toward the lake. "I am going to marry a chief.' she added. "The marriage is arranged.'" Desmond brought tAA r o fingers ti his helmet in a military salue., "Good-bye, Miss Arero." "Good-bye, Mr Somers."' Miranda broke into a smart canter, for she Avas .anxious to be home! Arrived at the camp,, Desmond gave her bridle to a man and.made his Avay to the Colonel's tent. "St. John is expected at Taupe any day noAV, sir/' he made his report. "His men av;11 probably make camp at Opepe Post for a few-days/ "Thank you, Somers." The Colonel noddad.. "Things seem quiet enough just now, anyway." The Kaiteriria Camp Avas enclosed by a rough stockade, with piled clay ramparts and a deep ditch. There was oily one gateway, Avhere the ditch Avas spanned by a bridge of split timber. Some time before midnight the sentry, leaning on his long Enfield rifle, AA r as roused to a sharp challenge. ' "Who goes there?" "Let me in," said a woman's breathlessly. "Let me by . . . T must see Mr Desmond Somers." One look at the panting and dishevelled figure was enough for the sentry. He raised his rifle and firetl into tho air. A Maori! You don't get past me Avith any of those tricks;" The alarm brought the men tumbling out, swearing, snatching for rifles and carbines. They dashed for the bridge, and there, Avhere they had expected to see the Hau-Hau? at their gates, Avas one AA r oman, a slender girl/imploring the beAvildered sentry. "No, no . . . no one else' is here . . . but let me in . . . you must let me in!" In her importuunity she was shaking the great bars of the spiked gate. "Desmond Somers . . , I must see Desmond Somers!" "What's this?'" 1 said a Aoice in crisp authority. "Stand back, men. What's the matter?" "She Avants to se« Lieutenant Somers, sir. Some Maori Avoman —a spy, perhaps ..." One of the men held a lantern up,, and the rays fell on Arcro's face, wet Avith fatigue and sharpened by anxiety, her great dark eyes glo\ving in their hollow sockets. "Yes, I know her, " said Desmond after an instant's pause. "It's all right, sir." "Then open the gates," said the Colonel sharply. The heavy bars clattered, the hinges creaked, and Arero slipped in, silent as a 3hadoAV. She looked as though she iiad been running through the bush; her blouse Ava's torn, her dark hair dishevelled. It did not take more than a minute to tell. Desmond left her and went to the Colonel's tent. His broAvn young face looked years older; his moutli AVas set in a grim line "She says, , sir," that Te Kooti's men have inside information as to the movements of St. John's column; they intend, to ambush and surround them at Opepe soon after dawn to<mori'OA\ r morning. After that, sir, j

they plan to gather forces and attack this garrison." The Colonel sal and thought for a long time. He, too,, seemed tc have grown older, and his shoulders stooped a little. "Have you thought, Somers, thai it might he a p'an to get us to send a party through to O'pepe and then attack-- here immediately?" "I had thought of it." "And you think the girl's telling the truth?" said the Colonel with an abrupt glance upwards. "I feel convinced of it, sir."' The Colonel sat thinking for a few seconds longer. "Why did this young woman bring us the warning?" "1! ... 1 don't know, sir," said Desmond Seiners, stammering. The Colonel looked at him keenly. "And yet you think she's telling the truth?'' "Yes, sir," said Desmond. "You command the party, Somers," said the Colonel abruptly "Take the best and fastest horses and a. dozen men and ride all yov can. It's a good ride before dawn, but you may do it. Meantime I'll send to Rotorua for ammunition anr 1 reinforcements for this camp.'" Desmond gave his orders sharply and ran back to his tent for his revolver and ride. Arcro was waiting there for him. "I am coming with you." "Don't be crazy," Desmond sale roughly. "How can you?" , "I can," she. said. "I can never gc I back home. I have betiayed the peo pie of my own race. 1 am no longer a Maori. But lam yours. I will come with you." I "Arcro!" Desmond pleaded. "Don'l be crazy. I know you can't go back but you can slay here at the camp. The Colonel will look after you.'" "You shall not go into danger i without me," Arcro repeated. ;do you think J came to warn yov and betrayed my people? Because J was afraid von might be killed wher this canip was attacked. I will gc with you. It is like the Bible. Th\ people Avill be my people . . . tli> God my God ..." She had taken Desmond's old uniform jacket from its hook and she was buttoning it on. Desmond dragged it from her roughly in his hurry and thrust her away, so that she almost fell. "Stop here. You will be quite safe' The horses were waiting, saddled, stamping the hard ground and snorl i.ng, jingling their bits. Desmond swung to saddle, and gave the word of command. He was riding Miranda, and the chestnut, mare pulled on her bit and forged eagerly to th<: front as the little band of horses clattered down the rough track. It was a starlit night; the strange green waters of the Jake lay liquid and- unstirred, dark with some strange secret. The gloom of the narrow bush trail was full of pitfalls; thorny creepers reached out; mudholes sucked at the horses' feet. Desmond Somers, riding ahead of the men, was silent with a grim determination. Achieve the impossible, that was what he must do. To rlc.e through the night and reach the Kaingaroa Plains before dawn, xo arouse the little garrison sleeping at O'pepe Camp, or. the edge of that great trackless forest .that was Te Kooti's own domain. That was his task. When they were perhaps 10 miles out, and riding across open tussock country, Desmond turned in hi!s saddle and scanned his little cavalcade. He counted a second time; his eyes had not deceived him. "Sergeant, tell that last man to come up!" The last, man came galloping up. mounted' on a big dark horse. He was a slender lad, in. high boots anrt a uniform jacket and a foragei cap pulled down low. In the starlight Arero's dark, glowing eyes looked at Desmond. "You ca-nnot send me back now. I must come with you. I will obey your orders as the others do." There was nothing to be done. Desmond gave the command to move on; the little band clattered into the night., There was no sound but the thudding of hoofs on the uneven ground, the creak of saddle leather, and the jingle of a bit chain. Twice Dosniond ordered the horses unsaddled for a few moments' rest. The second time Sergeant Downes war close to him as they remounted. "I*ik beginning to think Ave won't do it. sir." "Wo must do it'" said Desmond. When the thin streaks of grey appeared in the east the three great mountains lay before them—Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe and Tongari.ro— snow-clad, like shining silvery citadels in the far distance. They were nearing the end of their journey now; the hard-ridden horses pounded unevenly over the rough tussock, sweat dripping, nostrils distended, bloodshot eyes starting, Miranda was flecked with foam, but"

still moving easily; the horse Arero rode liacl travelled well under her slender weight and light hands. The sun rose before they reached the camp. "No horses picketed," .Sergeant Dowries muttered grimly. A. few hundred yards away Desmond gave the order for his men to halt* and he raised his rifle and fired into the air. There was no movement, no response from the little log lints against the green of the bush. .They rode forward cautiously. Hanging 011 a string line between two trees were shirts drying, a pair of uniform trousers, an empty cartridge belt. Sprawled across the doo r wajr of the hut was. the body of a man. Two more lay face downwards in the little clearing. Beyond was another, his uniform jacket stri.j>ped from his 3'aked shoulders. But Arero,, after the first glance, looked 110 more at the mutilated bodies. Her gaze was riveted on something far ahead in the fringe of the bush—something that stirred a branch of green leaves. With a sudden movement she spurred "her horse on that it stepped in front of Desmond's. At that instant the shot rang out. Arero swayed, sagged, and slipped sideways from the saddle of her plunging horse. Desmond leaped off and caught her in his arms and dragged lier free. A ragged volley of rifle fire rattled out; the men, witho-ut waiting for command, spurred their stumbling horses recklessly over the rough tussocks. But there was no more ; n the horses; they were exhausted and no match for the elusive foe somewhere in the bush. The men could only fire impotently into the gloom. Arero lay with her head upon Desmond's knee, his second-best uniform jacket stained with crimsor where it was buttoned across her breast, the cap tumbled back from the bound braids of her smooth, dark hair. She smiled at him, her dark eyes curiously glowing and lambent* and reached her hands up feebly to draw his face down towards hers. Desmond kissed her, and even Avhile he kissed her he realised that her eyes were closing. The rest of the story you probably know. I't is history. If you drive along the Rotorua-Taiipo road, you will see a signpost that directs you carefully to the scene of the Opepe Massacre.