CHAPTER XV
FROM PERIL TO SAFETY
THE night favored their escape, and prudence urged
them to lose no time in getting away from the fatal neighborhood of Lake Taupo.
Paganel took the post of leader,
and his wonderful instinct shone out anew in this difficult
mountain journey. His nyctalopia was a great advantage,
his cat-like sight enabling him to distinguish the smallest
object in the deepest gloom.
For three hours they walked on without halting along
the far-reaching slope of the eastern side. Paganel kept
a little to the southeast, in order to make use of a narrow
passage between the Kaimanawa and the Wahiti Ranges,
through which the road from Hawkes' Bay to Auckland
passes. Once through that gorge, his plan was to keep off
the road, and, under the shelter of the high ranges, march
to the coast across the inhabited regions of the province.
At nine o'clock in the morning, they had made twelve
miles in twelve hours. The courageous women could not
be pressed further, and, besides, the locality was suitable
for camping. The fugitives had reached the pass that
separates the two chains. Paganel, map in hand, made a
loop toward the northeast, and at ten o'clock the little party
reached a sort of redan, formed by a projecting rock.
The provisions were brought out, and justice was done
to their meal. Mary Grant and the Major, who had not
thought highly of the edible fern till then, now ate of it
heartily.
The halt lasted till two o'clock in the afternoon, then
they resumed their journey; and in the evening they
stopped eight miles from the mountains, and required no
persuasion to sleep in the open air.
Next day was one of serious difficulties. Their route
lay across this wondrous region of volcanic lakes, geysers,
and solfataras, which extended to the east of the Wahiti
Ranges. It is a country more pleasant for the eye to ramble over, than for the
limbs. Every quarter of a mile they
had to turn aside or go around for some obstacle, and thus
incurred great fatigue; but what a strange sight met their
eyes! What infinite variety nature lavishes on her great
panoramas!
On this vast extent of twenty miles square, the subterranean forces had a
field for the display of all their varied
effects. Salt springs, of singular transparency, peopled
by myriads of insects, sprang up from thickets of tea-tree
scrub. They diffused a powerful odor of burnt powder,
and scattered on the ground a white sediment like dazzling
snow. The limpid waters were nearly at boiling point,
while some neighboring springs spread out like sheets of
glass. Gigantic tree-ferns grew beside them, in conditions
analogous to those of the Silurian vegetation.
On every side jets of water rose like park fountains, out
of a sea of vapor; some of them continuous, others intermittent, as if a
capricious Pluto controlled their movements. They rose like an amphitheater on
natural terraces; their waters gradually flowed together under folds
of white smoke, and corroding the edges of the semi-transparent steps of this
gigantic staircase. They fed whole
lakes with their boiling torrents.
Farther still, beyond the hot springs and tumultuous
geysers, came the solfataras. The ground looked as if
covered with large pustules. These were slumbering craters
full of cracks and fissures from which rose various gases.
The air was saturated with the acrid and unpleasant odor of
sulphurous acid. The ground was encrusted with sulphur
and crystalline concretions. All this incalculable wealth had
been accumulating for centuries, and if the sulphur beds of
Sicily should ever be exhausted, it is here, in this little
known district of New Zealand, that supplies must be
sought.
The fatigue in traveling in such a country as this will be
best understood. Camping was very difficult, and the
sportsmen of the party shot nothing worthy of Olbinett's
skill; so that they had generally to content themselves with
fern and sweet potato — a poor diet which was scarcely sufficient to recruit
the exhausted strength of the little party,
who were all anxious to escape from this barren region.
But four days at least must elapse before they could hope
to leave it. On February 23, at a distance of fifty miles
from Maunganamu, Glenarvan called a halt, and camped
at the foot of a nameless mountain, marked on Paganel's
map. The wooded plains stretched away from sight, and
great forests appeared on the horizon.
That day McNabbs and Robert killed three kiwis, which
filled the chief place on their table, not for long, however,
for in a few moments they were all consumed from the
beaks to the claws.
At dessert, between the potatoes and sweet potatoes,
Paganel moved a resolution which was carried with en
thusiasm. He proposed to give the name of Glenarvan to
this unnamed mountain, which rose 3,000 feet high, and
then was lost in the clouds, and he printed carefully on his
map the name of the Scottish nobleman.
It would be idle to narrate all the monotonous and uninteresting details
of the rest of the journey. Only two or
three occurrences of any importance took place on the way
from the lakes to the Pacific Ocean. The march was all
day long across forests and plains. John took observations
of the sun and stars. Neither heat nor rain increased the
discomfort of the journey, but the travelers were so reduced
by the trials they had undergone, that they made very slow
progress; and they longed to arrive at the mission
station.
They still chatted, but the conversation had ceased to be
general. The little party broke up into groups, attracted
to each other, not by narrow sympathies, but by a more
personal communion of ideas.
Glenarvan generally walked alone; his mind seemed to
recur to his unfortunate crew, as he drew nearer to the sea.
He apparently lost sight of the dangers which lay before
them on their way to Auckland, in the thought of his massacred men; the horrible
picture haunted him.
Harry Grant was never spoken of; they were no longer
in a position to make any effort on his behalf. If his name
was uttered at all, it was between his daughter and John
Mangles.
John had never reminded Mary of what she had said
to him on that last night at Ware-Atoua. He was too wise
to take advantage of a word spoken in a moment of despair.
When he mentioned Captain Grant, John always spoke of
further search. He assured Mary that Lord Glenarvan
would re-embark in the enterprise. He persistently returned to the fact that
the authenticity of the document
was indisputable, and that therefore Harry Grant was somewhere to be found, and
that they would find him, if they had
to try all over the world. Mary drank in his words, and
she and John, united by the same thought, cherished the
same hope. Often Lady Helena joined in the conversation; but she did not
participate in their illusions, though
she refrained from chilling their enthusiasm.
McNabbs, Robert, Wilson, and Mulrady kept up their
hunting parties, without going far from the rest, and each
one furnished his
quota of game.
Paganel, arrayed in his flax mat, kept himself aloof, in a
silent and pensive mood.
And yet, it is only justice to say, in spite of the general
rule that, in the midst of trials, dangers, fatigues, and
privations, the most amiable dispositions become ruffled and
embittered, all our travelers were united, devoted, ready to
die for one another.
On the 25th of February, their progress was stopped by
a river which answered to the Wakari on Paganel's map,
and was easily forded. For two days plains of low scrub
succeeded each other without interruption. Half the distance from Lake Taupo to
the coast had been traversed
without accident, though not without fatigue.
Then the scene changed to immense and interminable
forests, which reminded them of Australia, but here the
kauri took the place of the eucalyptus. Although their enthusiasm had been
incessantly called forth during their four
months' journey, Glenarvan and his companions were compelled to admire and
wonder at those gigantic pines, worthy
rivals of the Cedars of Lebanon, and the "Mammoth trees"
of California. The kauris measured a hundred feet high,
before the ramification of the branches. They grew in
isolated clumps, and the forest was not composed of trees,
but of innumerable groups of trees, which spread their green
canopies in the air two hundred feet from the ground.
Some of these pines, still young, about a hundred years
old, resembled the red pine of Europe. They had a dark
crown surmounted by a dark conical shoot. Their older
brethren, five or six hundred years of age, formed great
green pavilions supported on the inextricable network of
their branches. These patriarchs of the New Zealand
forest measured fifty yards in circumference, and the united
arms of all the travelers could not embrace the giant trunk.
For three days the little party made their way under these
vast arches, over a clayey soil which the foot of man had
never trod. They knew this by the quantity of resinous
gum that lay in heaps at the foot of the trees, and which
would have lasted for native exportation many years.
The sportsmen found whole coveys of the kiwi, which
are scarce in districts frequented by the Maories; the native
dogs drive them away to the shelter of these inaccessible
forests. They were an abundant source of nourishing food
to our travelers.
Paganel also had the good fortune to espy, in a thicket, a
pair of gigantic birds; his instinct as a naturalist was awakened. He called his
companions, and in spite of their fatigue, the Major, Robert, and he set off on
the track of these
animals.
His curiosity was excusable, for he had recognized, or
thought he had recognized, these birds as "moas" belonging
to the species of "dinornis," which many naturalists class
with the extinct birds. This, if Paganel was right, would
confirm the opinion of Dr. Hochstetter and other travelers on
the present existence of the wingless giants of New Zealand.
These moas which Paganel was chasing, the contemporaries of the
Megatherium and the Pterodactyles, must have
been eighteen feet high. They were huge ostriches, timid
too, for they fled with extreme rapidity. But no shot could
stay their course. After a few minutes of chase, these
fleet-footed moas disappeared among the tall trees, and the
sportsmen lost their powder and their pains.
That evening, March 1, Glenarvan and his companions,
emerging at last from the immense kauri-forest, camped at
the foot of Mount Ikirangi, whose summit rose five thousand five hundred feet
into the air. At this point they had
traveled a hundred miles from Maunganamu, and the shore
was still thirty miles away. John Mangles had calculated
on accomplishing the whole journey in ten days, but he did
not foresee the physical difficulties of the country.
On the whole, owing to the circuits, the obstacles, and the
imperfect observations, the journey had been extended by
fully one-fifth, and now that they had reached Mount Ikirangi, they were quite
worn out.
Two long days of walking were still to be accomplished,
during which time all their activity and vigilance would be
required, for their way was through a district often frequented by the natives.
The little party conquered their
weariness, and set out next morning at daybreak.
Between Mount Ikirangi which was left to the right, and
Mount Hardy whose summit rose on the left to a height of
3,700 feet, the journey was very trying; for about ten miles
the bush was a tangle of "supple-jack," a kind of flexible
rope, appropriately called "stifling-creeper," that caught
the feet at every step. For two days, they had to cut their
way with an ax through this thousand-headed hydra. Hunting became impossible,
and the sportsmen failed in their accustomed tribute. The provisions were almost
exhausted,
and there was no means of renewing them; their thirst was
increasing by fatigue, and there was no water wherewith to
quench it.
The sufferings of Glenarvan and his party became terrible, and for the
first time their moral energy threatened to
give way. They no longer walked, they dragged themselves
along, soulless bodies, animated only by the instinct of selfpreservation which
survives every other feeling, and in this
melancholy plight they reached Point Lottin on the shores
of the Pacific.
Here they saw several deserted huts, the ruins of a village
lately destroyed by the war, abandoned fields, and everywhere signs of pillage
and incendiary fires.
They were toiling painfully along the shore, when they
saw, at a distance of about a mile, a band of natives, who
rushed toward them brandishing their weapons. Glenarvan,
hemmed in by the sea, could not fly, and summoning all his
remaining strength he was about to meet the attack, when
John Mangles cried:
"A boat! a boat!"
And there, twenty paces off, a canoe with six oars lay
on the beach. To launch it, jump in and fly from the dangerous shore, was only a
minute's work. John Mangles,
McNabbs, Wilson and Mulrady took the oars; Glenarvan
the helm; the two women, Robert and Olbinett stretched
themselves beside him. In ten minutes the canoe was a
quarter of a mile from the shore. The sea was calm. The
fugitives were silent. But John, who did not want to get
too far from land, was about to give the order to go up the
coast, when he suddenly stopped rowing.
He saw three canoes coming out from behind Point Lottin
and evidently about to give chase.
"Out to sea! Out to sea!" he exclaimed. "Better to
drown if we must!"
The canoe went fast under her four rowers. For half an
hour she kept her distance; but the poor exhausted fellows
grew weaker, and the three pursuing boats began to gain
sensibly on them. At this moment, scarcely two miles lay
between them. It was impossible to avoid the attack of the
natives, who were already preparing to fire their long guns.
What was Glenarvan about? — standing up in the stern
he was looking toward the horizon for some chimerical help.
What did he hope for? What did he wish? Had he a
presentiment?
In a moment his eyes gleamed, his hand pointed out into
the distance.
"A ship! a ship!" he cried. "My friends, row! row
hard!"
Not one of the rowers turned his head — not an oar-stroke
must be lost. Paganel alone rose, and turned his telescope
to the point indicated.
"Yes," said he, "a ship! a steamer! they are under full
steam! they are coming to us! Found now, brave comrades!"
The fugitives summoned new energy, and for another
half hour, keeping their distance, they rowed with hasty
strokes. The steamer came nearer and nearer. They made
out her two masts, bare of sails, and the great volumes of
black smoke. Glenarvan, handing the tiller to Robert,
seized Paganel's glass, and watched the movements of the
steamer.
John Mangles and his companions were lost in wonder
when they saw Glenarvan's features contract and grow
pale, and the glass drop from his hands. One word explained it.
"The Duncan!" exclaimed Glenarvan. "The Duncan,
and the convicts!"
"The Duncan!" cried John, letting go his oar and rising.
"Yes, death on all sides!" murmured Glenarvan, crushed
by despair.
It was indeed the yacht, they could not mistake her — the
yacht and her bandit crew!
The major could scarcely restrain himself from cursing
their destiny.
The canoe was meantime standing still. Where should
they go? Whither fly? What choice was there between
the convicts and the savages?
A shot was fired from the nearest of the native boats,
and the ball struck Wilson's oar.
A few strokes then carried the canoe nearer to the Duncan.
The yacht was coming down at full speed, and was not
more than half a mile off.
John Mangles, between two enemies, did not know what
to advise, whither to fly! The two poor ladies on their
knees, prayed in their agony.
The savages kept up a running fire, and shots were raining round the
canoe, when suddenly a loud report was heard,
and a ball from the yacht's cannon passed over their heads,
and now the boat remained motionless between the Duncan
and the native canoes.
John Mangles, frenzied with despair, seized his ax. He
was about to scuttle the boat and sink it with his unfortunate
companions, when a cry from Robert arrested his arm.
"Tom Austin! Tom Austin!" the lad shouted. "He is
on board! I see him! He knows us! He is waving his
hat."
The ax hung useless in John's hand.
A second ball whistled over his head, and cut in two the
nearest of the three native boats, while a loud hurrah burst
forth on board the Duncan.
The savages took flight, fled and regained the shore.
"Come on, Tom, come on!" cried John Mangles in a
joyous voice.
And a few minutes after, the ten fugitives, how, they
knew not, were all safe on board the Duncan.