JUVENILE STORY. FROM THE CHRISTMAS PRIZE COMPETITION. EFFIE'S ADVENTURE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. (A Scene During the Maori War.)

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 328, 26 December 1888, Page 6

JUVENILE STORY. FROM THE CHRISTMAS PRIZE COMPETITION. EFFIE'S ADVENTURE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. (A Scene During the Maori War.)

1 WELL, father, and must you go away again to-day?' • I'm afraid 1 must, Effie, lass. You see there's a lot to be done jusb now winding up affairs. It grieves me Bore bo leave you alone day after day, bub it'll soon be over, and then we'll start together for Bonnie Scotland. I can picture your grandmother's surprise ana delight when she sees ye. * Robert's bairn ' she used to talk about in her letters.' The speakers were a broad, sturdy, middle-acred man, and a handsome girl ot scarcely nineteen, handsome in spite of the plain homespun gown, and the coarseness of the white collar at the neck. They were sitting in a small, plainly but tastefully furnished room, the father dividing bis attention between coffee and conversation (there being no daily newspapers in thoie days), while his daughter presided over the I coffee urn, and attended to his wants with i o careful consideration pleasing to see in I one so young. There was silence for a few ! moments after .this, each occupied with their ovrn thoughts. Then Effie suddenly exclaimed — < 1 By-the-by, father, is there any truth in these reports going about, just now, of the Maoris ? Old Widow Jones was over the other day, and she told me they hare rebellod in several places.' Redfern looked as though he wished old Widow Jones had kept her information to herself, but he only said, with a feigned attempt at gaiety in his tone, ' Tut, tut ! nonsense, child. It's true there have been a few skirmishes of late, but the cowardly rascals will soon be put down.' The anxiety underlying the feigned gaiety in his tone was not lost upon Effie ; and, as her father evidently did not like it, she changed the subject, and soon after Redfern went out to get his horse and waggon ready for a journey to the nearest town, twenty miles distant, while Effis busied herself about household duties. At last all was ready, and Redfern came in to bid his daughter farewell. ' By-the-by, Effie,', he said, *if ye go out to-day for a stroll ye had better nob so very far into the bush ; it mightn't be quite safe. And now, ,gude-bye, my lass ; this is' the. last day I'll have. to leave ye alone like this,' 'All right, father,' Effie answered, cheerily, and then she stood at the door of the humble little dwelling waving her hand merrily to her father until a turning in the rough road hid him from view, and Redfern continued his way, little dreaming that many things would happen before he saw that sweet face again. About twenty-five years' before the commencement of this sfc<sry, Robert Redfern, then a hardy young man of twenty, had decided (like many another) to leave home and' friends and emigrate to New Zealand, there to * make his fortune.' He had come and settled down in a small settlement about a year after he had wooed and won the band of fair Effie Lane, a satbler's daughter. A« time vent on and young Redfern proa*

pered he built for himself and his young wife tho pretty little home in which we now find him. Here ib was &hab little Effie was born, and passed her childhood. Ten years passed peacefully away, and then a change came, The wife and mother of the little household was suddenly called away, and Effio became her father's little help and companion in everything, while he in turn almost idolised hiti only child. But when Effie was about eighteen years old, someone stepped in between father and daughter in the shape of John Graham, a hardy, handsome young settler, with as true and honest a hcarfo as ever beat, who won Effie's heart, and finally gained a somewhat reluctant consent from her father to her hand, for, although Kedfern knew. he could not have found a better husband for his daughter, and son-in-law for himself, in all the land, skill he felt loath to part with Effie. By this time he had made, as ho himself expressed it, ' a tidy sum '- enough to keep himself and his daughter comfortable for the rest of their lives, and being anxious to see his friends and settle down in his nativo land again, it was decided that he and Effie should return home, and as both parties were young and could afford to wait, John was to follow in a year or so, when he, had made his way a little, i The great grief of Effie's life wap, that her 'father, although one of the most kindhearted of men, *.w,as not a Christian. Although glad that his daughter was following in her mother's footsteps, ho did not care much about religion for himself, and his daughter's great longing and prayer day and night was that he might be led into the narrow way. And now let us go back to Effie, as she hums merrily at her duties. Many girls would have been frightened out of their wits to be left alone like this day after day, the nearest human habitation more than half a mile away ; but Effie hardly knew what fear was, and she had become so accustomed to being alone that she did not mind it in the least. Having finished her morning duties she put on a large sun- . bonnet, made certainly more for comfort and shade than elegance, and started off for her daily stroll in the bush. It was a lovely morning ; the birds were singing merrily, and everything looked bright and pretty, and Effie was so entranced with the scone that, forgetting her father's warning, she wandered deeper and deeper into the bush, only pausing now and acain to pluck a wild flower or listen to the sweet notes of some bird, when suddenly she was arrested by a hand laid heavily on her shoulder, and turning quickly round, found herself confronted by a tall, swarthy, and fierce - looking Maori, while at the same moment several others sprang up from the bushes. Moat girls in the tame position would have fainted or screamed, but Effie did neither. For a moment she stood as if paralysed, then summoning up the little of the Maori language she knew, asked them what they meant by assaulting her in that way. But the Maoris evidently could not, or did not, choose to understand, for they paid no attention to her, and almost before she knew where she was, she found herself handcuffed and gagged. Then a short, hurried consultation took place, in which the tall Maori who had first laid hands upon Effie (and who, from the respectful demeanour of the others towards him, seemed to be the chief) took the leading part. The result was that she was placed between two stalwart Maoris to effectually prevent her escape, the rest taking up their position in front and behind, and thus, Indian file, the little party! |moved on through the bush. Meanwhile, reader, you can imagine Effie'B feelings as she was hurried along, knowing that each step took her further away from home and friends. It had all taken place so suddenly, she could hardly realise that a few minutes before she had been a free, happy girl, and now — She glanced at the grim faces of her companions, and her heart sank within her. Did they mean to kill her or what were they going to do ? And then the conversation of the morning and her father's warning flashed upon her, and Effie prayed as she had never prayed in her life before that she nr.ight be spared if only for her father's and John's sake. After a long inarch of several hours, sometimes through the bush and sometimes over large tracts of fern wilderness, as dusk came on, they ab length reached a copse, which, although small, was so thick that more than five hundred people could have been safely concealed in it, and here, at a signal from the chief, the little parky halted and preparations were made to spend the night. Effie was so hungry that she did full justice to the portion of sweet potato or kumara (the staple food of the Maoris) which was given her. One of her guards then beckoned to her to lie down in a place where it was impossible to escape without notice, and another, more kindhearted than the red*, threw her his blanket, which Effie would rather have been without, as it was very dirfcy, and smelb strongly of tobacco ; but not wishing to incur their anger she accepted it, and lying down soon fell fast asleep from, exhaustion, while the Maoris, gathering around the smouldering remains of the fire with pipes and tobacco, began a j long discussion, which owing to the signs | and glances directed occasionally towards j tho sleeping girl, evidently concerned her. When Effie woke the next morning the old feeling of desolation and misery came over her again ; but youth and good spirits can nob long be miserable, especially on a charming day when all nature looks gay and cheerful, and in a few minutes hope came back , to her heart, and , she began to take interest in wMb was going on around her. The Maoris' evidently did not. mean to kill her ; at least, not at present. They had some purpose in view, and Effie cotild only wait and hop* for .resoue. After a hasty morning meal, the march was again resumed, and all through that weary day it continued, until, towards evening, they came in sight of a Maori' pa, or village, to which these evidently belonged, as they bent their steps in that direction, and Effie wondered what her reception would be like. On approaching the village, .women by the dozen came nocking out to welcome, their husbands and fathers. They all gazed curiously at Effie, and she was soon surrounded by a grinning, .chattering flock, who felt, her hair and cheeks and made comical, signs and exclamations, as.if she were, some , strange animal, instead of a human being like themselves, .until in despair she was on the point of giving a few hearty slaps to some of the grinning little monkeys around her, when the chfof (who I had been holding a consultation a little way off with his warriors and an aged Maori, the feohunga or priest of the tribe, to whom all looked up with reverence) came forward to her rescue. Ab a word from him the strapge-lobkinff company dispersed, and motioning ,to Effie ,fco follow bimj led her up to where the old tohunga was standing surrounded by the warriors of the tribe. ii r She made a lowly obeisance as ahe bad aeen the others do, and waited to hear what' was coming, when to her surprise she found herself addressed in her native tongue. * Daughter of th!e'. pakeha ; ' the old man began slowly 1 and "With great solemnity, •less than one moon ago there dwelt with us a young warrior, Te Koobi, the brave, the boldest^ and Jbosb warrior of the tribe ; i bub war arose;? the Maori wants to and vri\h j drive the white man from the land, and 1 maa fight, only four days ago, between.aome of oar warriors and the cowardly pakeha,

Te Koobi, the brave,- the good* the noble, was taken and ' carried "away captive to the haunts of the 'white man. Oh! Te Kooti, , Te Kooti, flower "of line "Bauhaus, where art 1 thou now ? The gods are angry, they will not hearken to the prayers of their people.' The last words wore spoken in a mournful wail, in which all the tribe joined, striking their breasts and making many outward signs of grief, while thoy glared fiercely at poor Effie as if she was the mother of all their woe. Then the old priest continued, 4 And think you, maiden, why our warriors, instead'of killing you in revenge for those who have already been f>lain by your people, should thus have spared you '( This is our reason. Te Kooti may not be dead ; we have sent a messenger to find out, and if he be still alive, thou .shall be ottered as a ransom, and will see your friends once more. Bub, if in three days the ino&songcr has not returned, or if he bling bnck evil news, then woe unto you, daughter ; for every wrong wo have received from your countrymen, it shall be repaid on you threefold.' Then Eilie was conducted to one of the hubs, some food was given her, and she was left alone to think over what) she had heard. It was a serious matter to consider, and now that she was about to lose it, life looked very bright, for what hope was there of anybody, however ileetfooLed, (retting to Auckland and back in seven days (although the Maoris seemed to consider it enough), or even if he did rnafinsr<J to do it what news Would he bring ? Poor EHie, it needed a strong, unwavering faith to see a loving Father's hand through all this trouble, but faith conquered at last, and Eflie prayed that if it were Uis will she should die. lie would give her strength and courage to nieeb her fate calmly How Efiie bore the suspense of those tin cc days she cannot bo this day toll. Most of the time she spent within the hut, for whenever she ventm ed out a step she was instantly surrounded by nearly the whole tribe, Avho danced around her, making all sorts oi imaginable noises. The first day came and went, then the second, and the heat was so intolerable that Effie did nothing bub crouch in a corner of the hut with flushed cheek and sparkling eye, which plainly bespoke fever, fanning herself feebly with, a large leaf and longing for a drink of water to quench her thirst. The third day wore slowly away, oh how slowly, Effie thought, when towards evening, a" she was sitting, or rather lying, in her usual position, she heard a shout, and crawling feebly to the hut entrance (for the foyer had already wasted nearly all her strength) she saw that the messenger had returned, and was standing, surrounded by all the people, talking vehemently in Maori, with many gesticulations. She had not long to wait, for the vehement tone suddenly changed into a slow mournful sorb of wail, and a glance at the faces of the Maoris showed her the truth. Yes, Te Kooti was dead. He had been wounded while strug gling violently to free himself, and this, together with the wounds he had received during the fight, caused his death. There was silence for a moment after the Maori had finished speaking, bub only for a moment. Then with howls of rage and execration the whole tribe rushed upon the poor defenceless girl. And now, when the feverish excitement and suspense were over, and she knew that she must dje, a strange, sweet, God-given peace filled her heart and she scarcely heard the hooting and yelling of bhe enraged mob around her. She was dragged out, pinched, beaten, and hooted, while preparations were made for coming torture, while all bhe time she kept her eyes fixed stedfastly on the blue sky above. ' But hark ! what is that sound which rises above the shouts and din of the Maoris, becoming each moment louder and clearer 1 It is the tramp of horses' feet, and the next moment a party of volunteers came into view, while a true English shout filled the air, as they galloped furiously down upon bhe teircr-stricken Maoris. Then all became riot and confusion. The women and children fled shrieking, while the men ran hither and thither, catching up anything with which they could defend themselves. The fight was not long. The Maoris had been so taken ab disadvantage that they were easily overpowered, and then, seeing that resistance was üboless, the chief for the first time remembered his captive, and rushed forward with the cowardly determination that if her frienda had her they should not have her alive ; but a brawny arm interposed, and just as the chief was op the point of striking the girl to the earth, he received a heavy blow from the arm of John Graham, which sent him insensible to the ground, and then Effie knew no more. And now let us bake a lasb peep ab Jour heroine as she leans idly over bhe edge of the good ship Albatross, which is skimming merrily over the water, homeward bound. Many months have elapsed since the events of our last chapter. The painful suspense followed by the crisis had proved too much for Effie, and whiJ© the fierce struggle raged in the island, she lay delirious at Auckland, struggling against fiercer and deadlier foes than the Maoris, while her friends hung over her in suspense, fearing that she had been snatched from peril, only to be lost again. But the hardy constitution conquered and she came slowly back to life again. Then all the necessaiy arrangements for the voyage home were made, and after a promise from John that he would follow in two years and claim her as his bride, Effie and her fafchor set sail in bhe Albatross, in which we now find them. Her father is seated on the deck beside her now, with one of her little thin, wasted hands clasped tightly on his own big rough one, as if he could never let her go from him apain. Both are silent, each occupied with their own thoughts. It is broken at lasfc by Effie, who says softly, • God has been ! very good to us, father.' She speaks in echo |to her own thoughts more than to her father, and is .surprised when he answers humbly. | l Ay, lass, he has,' and then seeing her surprised look, « Ay, ye'li think it queer ov me wha has always Bcoffed ab this sorb o' thing to talk-so, but truth to tell, lass, the events o' the last few months 'has made me a changed man, and when I think o' His gudeness to me through it a' an the wonderfu' way in which He twice gave my bairnie back to me again, I canna but love Him and acknowledge His gudeness an' might.' And Erne's 'Oh, father, I am so glad,' and the^ emile which accompanied the words, fully repaid him for the little embarrassment he had felt in making the speech. And now we need»nd' longer follow Effie's history, but'leave 1 the reader to imagine the welcome home, ' the > marriage the next year, and how, i some years later, in a bonnie Highland home, a Mr young mother would gather her little ones around her, and tell x the oft ; repeated story of her adventure in the far away island of New' Zealand, and what came of it. — (By G. W., aged 13. )

' It 1 is stated in 'a recent' issue of 1 the <* (Jologue Gazette " thaMhe news' tlfat the Bremen liloyd J Company would' take up the running of' a line 1 from ' Sydney to" 'Frisco, via 'Auckland i Satnoa, and Honolulu; should tKe Naw Zealand' Goveifnmani discontinue the servicftj . has b«en received .in 'Frisco with great; ittiifactio«. -.-■'■