CHAPTER III. —(Continued.)

Waikato Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1863, 14 June 1884, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER 111. — (Continued.)

As we left the shelter of the overhanging rock I observed that the rain had ceased to fall, the sky had cleared, save where the fleecy rack *ped across it, and the moon was shining brilliantly in the heavens. I pointed this out to Jaok as an omen of good fortune, and we itood for a moment on the edge of the upper torrace to look at it. " Who knows," I said, " if some day — " I got no further. At that instant, without any warning, there was a terrifio crash, followed by a sullen roar louder than the loudest founder, and the whole side of the mountain ieemed to topple over and advance upon us bodily. There was no time to think or to eeek refuge, even had there been any refuge to seek. A moment, and I found myself borne rapidly onward amidst a shower of earth and stones and huge trees. I was hurled hither and thither, then I felb myself falling — falling — falling — and then came in•ensibility and darkness. When I woke I found myself lying on a narrow shelf on the side of the precipice, finder the shadow of a huge mass of rock. The sun iras shining brightly in the heavens, and I could hear the hoarse roar of running water, and see the dancing ripples and foamingcascades of the river glittering below. What was it, and where was I ? I tried to rise, but discovered that I was half buried in earth and shin&lo. Then I lay still and tried to remember. Faintly at first, and then more and more distinctly, the recollection of what had occurred came back to my half daeed mind. I cleared away the debris by which I Was encumbered, sat up, and suddenly remembered Jack. I looked round. He was not there. I called, "Jack! Jack! Jack Butler!" No answer. Was it then that Jack had said truly? That the sound I had heard was really the Bcream of the Banshee, prognosticating his death ? I would search. But where ? Here, along this narrow shelf of granite. Ho ; he was not there. Dead then ; killed ? poor, poor Jack. I sat on a stone sad and despairing. Poor., dear, generous Jaft£, dead, dead. But stay ; what is thai still further under the rock than I had lain, crushed by the stupendous mass? A body? It is his body, dead, dead. Still, calm, impassive, cold pulseless, no breath, no being. Alas ! alas 1 crushed by that cruel stone that bad been my preservation, dead, dead. And this was the end of all. My friend, my more than brother, dead, dead. He who last night had told me for the first time his piteous tale of sorrow, dead, dead. He to whom I had pointed out the brightly shining moon as an omen of happier days to Oome, dead, dead. And I reverently crossed his hands upon his breast, and looked into his well-known face with tear-bedimmed eyes. But what 1 what 1 what ! Am I mad then ? No, no, no, no ; a thousand times no. There ia a tremor of the lip, a quivering of the nostril. Not much, 'tis true, *ut enough, as though he had leapt to his feet to tell me that life was not extinct. Oh, for water. But how to get it ? I see. A scramble down the rugged sides of this precipice. Over heaped up boulders and splintered trees, and treacherous gravel, and fragments of shining quartz and the hundreds of other things which go to form this wild abomination of desolation, thiB bizarre disjecta membra of nature, and I can reach the brawling river. But how to get back? By the way I came so I must return. A struggle, a perilous climb, a few slips and falls, and faint, weary, breathless, and bruised I am back in the cavern, with my handkerohief and my coat soaked in water. Thank God 1 oh thank God for his mercies, bat more than all for this. He lives, he breathes, anon he opens his eyes, he sees me, he recognises me, and he smiles faintly. Then again his senses sink into oblivion, and I sit back helplessly and patiently to watch and wait. My head aches terribly, and my bruised limbs throb with acute pain. I know no more beyond that of the first awakening to the terrible situation in which we are placed by this abrupt paroxysm, this convulsive throe of nature. No more, for I am wearj and faint, and I must Bleep. That is all I can remember until I awoke from my broken doze. My head and limbs still ached, and my mind was in a wild and ceaselessj whirl ; still I pressed my brows within my hands, and tried to think. I looked round, and for the first time shuddered to see how narrow had been the margin between me and a horrible death. Then I ' geemed suddenly to revive from the passive inertness, the languid torpor, which had taken hold of my faculties, and I felt that I must be up and doing. And first, to attend to Jack. He still lay in the same position — nearly fiat on his back. His head and the upper part of his body were uncovered, but the lower part was buried under the huge rock that had, so far, saved both our lives. I squeezed a few drops of water from my wet coat on his forehead, and presently he woke from his deathlike coma, with a sigh and a start. He looked round him wildly and wonderingly, and then his eyes rested on my face, and again he smiled. " Jack," I said, softly. " Larry," he whispered, " what's the matter with me ? " " Are you hurt ? " I asked. "I don't know, I— I—" then the film cleared from his eyes, and he spoke more dearly, " I have a dull aching ; I fear my tegs are broken."

For the firit time my reason seemed fully to resume hor sway, and the situation br«ke on me with painful intensity. We must get out of this our present place of refuge ere famine overtook us, and we became unable to escape. And first to extricate Jack, if that were possible. As it appeared to mo, the lower portion of his body was pinned to the earth by the mass of granite, which, ploping backward and downward, formed a paitial roof to the cavern. I have often an acute wondering sense of the activity and physical energy I displayed. I rapidly removed the stones and earth which had showeied on him, and when I had done this, exerted all my strength to drag him forth fiom the deathtrap into which he had fallen. To my surprise, he moved easily, and -without much apparent pain. Another vigorous effort, and yet another, rfnd he lay free of the stone. If, tras a miracle ! Oh 1 praiso to Ilis Holy Name, a miracle ! Nothing less ! I began to reflect, and I saw hovr we had been saved. We had been | hurled down the precipice, or lather borne i down it, in the midst of the furious earth avalanche, had lodged for a moment on the nairofr ledge, and the vast mass of rock, the \ " Needle, " under which we had sheltered the previous evening, and under whole shadow Jack had told me his piteous tale, had fallen over us, had become suddenly arrested in its dow nward career, had become jammed in a rift in the side of the cliff, and had protected us from the blocks of granitic gneis3, the immense rugged boulders, and the mass of timber which, shooting off above our heads, had formed a moraine in the mer below. Had the rosk fallen an inch lower it would probably have missed the crevice in which it had caught, and we should have been ground to powder. Surely, surely, the hand of the Almighty had been stretched forth to save. So far as I could judge, it was yet early in the day, not noon, perhaps, although, situated as we were, I could not tell, for I could not see the sun. Still it was absolutely necessary that at the soonest possible moment we should be up and doing. To the best of our belief, though we were badly bruised and cut and lacerated about the head and body, no bones were broken. Our limbs were whole, albeit sadly scratched ana 1 batteied. _ But Jack was scarcely yet able to move, his legs having become partially paralysed^ for the time, owing so the constrained position in which they had been kept so Jong. But he struggled bravely, and in less than an hour, despite the terrible pricking pain of returning sensibility, ho declared himself ready to start. But which way to go ? It was impossible either to cross or track down the liver ; it was equally impossible to scale the precipice from where we were, for the rock formed an impassable barrier over our heads. Still an effort must be made, and that at once. Lying on our backs we slid gently down a sloping part of the cliff, and landed on our feet on another narrow shelf that seemed to lead round a bold rocky bluff. So it did, but only downward to a deep reach in the river, having a rapid baekwafcer swill. We weie worse off now than ever, for we could neither advance nor retreat. Opposite to us, across the reach,and about a dozen yards from where we stood.tho river was partially blocked up by an inextricable tangle of trees and brushwood, among&t which I perceived a mass of supple jack, and, better still, a large clump of flex. If we could reach that we should, at least, have a rope, and that was what we most needed. Oh I if we could only reach it. Watching the swirl, I saw by a few vraves borne down on the water that the eddy, after reaching a certain point, swept away towards the timber, and I fancied that, if I could get into that eddy, I mighr succeed in loachingit. | If I had only the strength. Ah ! if I had only the strength. Bat this was no time for hesitation. I must risk the peril. Quickly divesting myself of my coat and boots, I plunged boldly into the circling waters. I was a powerful swimmer, and the passage was easier than I had anticipated. The eddy carried mo over, and in a few seconds I had sci ambled up the timber It was better than I expected. Not only was there plenty of flax, but torn up by the roots lay a large Marnuka fern, the core in the crown of which is edible. Thus we had cordage and food in abundance. Eapidly cutting off some of the broad flax leaven, I tore them into strips, and had soon twisted a strong rope. To the end of this I attached a stone, and, making a coil, thiew it over to Jack, who, fastening it under his shoulders, enabled me to drag him across the dangerous passage. How thankfully we cut out the nutritious core of tae fein and ate it raw. Then we cast about what to do next. But, great Heavens ! another and a greater peril theatened us. Our ark of. safety began to bieak up, and slowly to move from its anchorage. Slowly at first, and then more lapidly it drifted towards the frightful meraine, where the broken water rushed in foaming cascades over the heaped-up rocks. Did we but touch them we were surely sped, dashed to pieces in that wild turmoil. We closed our eyes in despair, and waited for the endBut God was good. The very means of our destruction, as we thought, was our means of rescue. The raft struck one of the immense boulders, swayed to and fro for a moment, and then turned into an almost blocked up channel between it and the shore. It grated on a shingle bank, stopped for a moment, and again we were saved. We jumped ashore, not an instant too soon, for the next it had floated off, and was smashed into fragments in the moraine. The cliff was not so steep here as elsewhere, but it was covered with trunks of trees and loose stones, which threatened to give way and crush us at every footstep. After infinite toil and in constant jeopardy we, however, reached the top, the place where our camp had been. Where was our camp ? Where our companions ? Where the terrace ? Alas ! alas 1 gone, swallowed up, buried fifty feet beneath a mass of piled up earth and timber and stone. Gone, for ever gone, and we alone, through Heaven's mercy, left to tell the tale. The scene of wide-spread desolation told its own story. As is not unfrequent in the mountain regions of New Zealand, there had been a landslip, one of those fearful accidents which from time to time occur, and nearly always without warning. Who can tell the cause ? A shock of earthquake it may be, or the timber on the hill-sides growing too heavy for the retaining soil, the erosion or undermining of the rocks by ever flowing water, the melting of glaciers, the disintegration of the earth, cracking caused by heat, or cleavage by cold. Who knows ? Long and sorrowfully we sought for seme trace of our mates. But no, there buried they must lie, unless come other convulsion of the earth shall lay bare their whitened and mangled bones ; until the last great duy, when the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised.