Midnight Webs

A light was brought, and swung down, to show the blue shirts of the crew, and the red uniforms of half-a-dozen marines in the stern-sheets; when, apparently satisfied, the captain grumbled an apology.

“All right, my man!” was the laughing response; and a young lieutenant sprang up the side. “And so they nearly took you, did they? Lucky for you that you had so good a look-out. Can’t tell me where they steered for, I suppose? But of course not – too dark. Confound the rascals! They say there’s about half a hundred of them got away – killed a couple of warders, and done the deuce knows what mischief. Good-night!” and he sprang down the side. “If you see any more of them, just burn a blue light, and you shall have a boat’s crew aboard in no time. Give way, my men.”

The oars fell plashing into the sea; and then, save the low regular dip, all was once more silent. The crew, as they kept a sharp look-out, fancied they once heard a loud splash and a faint cry; but there was no repetition of the sounds, though the men listened attentively. The glow by the town faded slowly away, a breeze sprung up, and the stars came peering out, one after another, till, as the sky brightened, the spars and rigging of the sloop-of-war could be dimly seen, her lights just beginning to swing to and fro as the breeze ruffled the waters. But no farther alarm disturbed the Sarah Ann, though one and all the crew kept on deck, in case of another attack.

“Wasn’t there a small schooner off there, about a quarter of a mile?” said the captain suddenly, as he lowered the night-glass, with which he had been carefully searching for enemies.

“To be sure!” said Murray. “Isn’t it there now?”

“Try for yourself,” was the reply.

And the young man carefully swept the offing.

“I can’t make her out,” he said; “but we may see her as day breaks. Perhaps she moved in more under the land.”

“More like those fellows boarded her, and that noise was the captain sent overboard. Well, all I can say, Murray, is, that if they’d got possession here, the best thing they could have done would have been to throw me over; for I could never have faced the owners again.”

Morning broke, but there was no schooner in sight; whereupon the sloop immediately weighed in chase, for the convicts had seized her, cut the cable, and made sail, running none knew whither.

Towards afternoon the captain of the Sarah Ann came on board, after concluding his business with the agents.

“Good luck to you, Murray; make sail, and let’s be off, for I sha’n’t feel as if the old Sally is safe till we’ve left this beautiful spot a hundred knots astern. The poor skipper of that schooner’s ashore there, and he’s half mad, and no wonder.”

The captain made his way below, the anchor was weighed, sail after sail dropped down, and then, with a pleasant breeze astern, the old barque slowly began to force her way through the bright and transparent waters, making the sunlit windows of Port Caroline grow more and more distant, while Edward Murray’s heart gladdened within him, as he thought of the prolonged stay for discharging and loading that would be made in Kaitaka Bay, New Zealand.

Story 3-Chapter III.

Golden Gap

“‘And I said, if there’s peace in this world to be found’ – Go on, Joey, will you? – ‘The – he heart that is humble might welcome it here,’” sang and said a sturdy-looking, hard-faced man, with cleanly-shaven chin and upper lip, and a pair of well-trimmed grizzly whiskers. He was somewhat sun-browned, but wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, and in addition, as he strode a very weedy, meditative-looking pony, he carried up a large gingham umbrella.

“Well, Joey!” he continued, apostrophising the pony, which had come to a full stop; “you’re a sensible beast, and it is a beautiful spot, and ‘the heart that is humble’ might truly ‘welcome it here.’ What a paradise! They may well call it Golden Gap! Golden, indeed! A heavenly gilding – no dross here! No more like Battersea Fields than I’m like an archangel. Well, Joey, suppose we meditate, then, for half an hour. You shall chew your herb, and I’ll smoke mine, even if it be not canonical. I don’t like good things to be wasted, as my old mother used to say. Savages smoke, so why should not a parson?”

Slowly dismounting, he closed his umbrella, unbuckled the pony’s bridle, that he might graze, and then, seating himself beneath a huge tree-fern, he filled and lit his pipe, and began to enjoy its fragrance.

For he was seated far up on the side of a mountain, whose exact similitude was on the other side of the valley, so that it seemed as if, in some wild convulsion, Nature had divided one vast eminence, and then clothed the jagged and rugged sides from the point where the glittering, snow-tipped summits peered forth, down to the lovely stream in the valley, with the riches of her wondrous arboretum. The fattest of pastures by the little river, and deepest of arable rich soil; and then, as step by step the mountain rose, everywhere shone forth the glory of the New Zealand foliage, with its fern and palm-like fronds, parasite and creeper, of the most golden greens, and here and there blushing with blossom; while in scores of places tiny silver threads could be seen dashing, plashing, and flashing in the sun-rays, as they descended from the never-exhausted storehouses of ice and snow far above, which glowed in turn, like some wondrous collection of gold and gems.

Some three miles away there shone the sparkling waters of a tiny bay, whose shores, at that distance, could be seen framed in emerald green, as the forest trees grew right down to where the sea could almost lave their roots, and goodly ships have made fast cable or hawser to their trunks. And yet, in all the length and breadth of the glorious vale, stood but one house, sheltered in another tiny valley, running off at right angles; while right up and up, higher and higher, tree, crag, and mossy bank were piled with a profuseness of grandeur that displayed novel beauties at every glance.

“‘And I said, if there’s peace,’ – I don’t believe any place could be more lovely, even in this land of beauty,” muttered the traveller, tapping the ashes out of his smoked pipe on to a mossy boulder, and then blowing them carefully away. “Here am I, too, defiling Nature’s beauties with my vile nicotine. But beauty is beauty, Joey; and it only satisfies the eye; and man has a stomach, and bones that ache if they don’t have a bed; so, my gallant steed, we’ll finish our journey to the Moa’s Nest, and see what friend Lee will say to us, and whether he will bestow on thy master, damper, tea, and bacon, and on thee some corn.”

The gallant steed did not even sniff at the prospect of the feed of corn, but submitted, like the well-broken animal he was, to the replacing of his bit; when, arranging his bridle, his master mounted, put up his umbrella again, and then, leaving the pony to pick his way, slowly descended the zigzag track which led to old Martin Lee’s station, known far and wide, from an old Maori tradition, as the Moa’s Nest.

The distance seemed nothing from where he had been seated; but the track wound and doubled so much, from the steepness of the descent, that it was getting towards sundown before the traveller rode up to the long, straggling, wooden building, that had evidently been erected at various times, as the prosperity of its occupant had called for farther increase; when, slowly dismounting, he closed the great umbrella, hung his bridle upon a hook, and stalked in to where the family were at tea, if the substantial meal spread out could be so called.

“God bless all here!” he said heartily, as he brought down the umbrella with a thump; “How’s friend Lee?”

“Right well am I, parson, thank you!” exclaimed a bluff, sturdy-looking farmer. “Won’t you draw up to the log fire?”

There was a merry laugh at these words; for it was midsummer, and the Gap was famed for its hot days and nights.

“And how is the good wife, and my little queen, too?” continued the new-comer, shaking hands with Mrs Lee, a sharp, eager little woman; and then taking their daughter’s blooming face between his hands, to kiss her lovingly, as if she had been his own child. “All well? That’s right! Yours obediently, sir,” he continued, to a tall, dark man of about thirty, who had risen from the table with the others.

“A neighbour of ours, Mr Meadows,” said Mrs Lee; “Mr Anthony Bray.”

“Your servant, sir,” said the new-comer stiffly. “A neighbour, eh? Lives close by – six or eight miles off, I suppose?” And then he muttered to himself, “I know what’s your business.”

“Well, I think you’ve made a pretty good guess at the distance,” said the other; “it is seven miles.”

“Great blessing sometimes, but it makes one’s parish too extended to be pleasant. I find it a long journey to visit all my people in the nooks and corners – ”

“And Moas’ Nests.”

“Ay, and Moas’ Nests, they get into. Well, I’ve come to ask a bed and a meal, if you’ll give them to me, friend Lee.”

“Always welcome, parson, so long as you don’t come begging,” said the head of the family.

“But I have come begging,” he said, standing with one hand upon his umbrella, and the other stuck under his grey frock coat. “I want a subscription towards our new church; so, if we are not welcome, Joey and I will have to – There, bless me, child, don’t take away my umbrella!” he exclaimed, to the pretty daughter of the household, who, in true patriarchal fashion, was divesting him of his sunshade and hat, and placing him in a chair.

“There, sit down, do!” exclaimed the settler, laughing; “it’s quite a treat to see a fresh face – and I daresay I can buy you off with a crooked sixpence or so. Fall to, man; you look hot and worn.”

“Little overdone, perhaps,” said the visitor. “Phew! bother the flies! How they always seem to settle on you, when a little out of sorts! Scent sickness, I suppose. Thank you, my child; nothing like a cup of tea for refreshment. Why, our Katie looks more blooming than ever, Mrs Lee.”

“Ay, she grows,” said the father; “and we begin to want to see her married and settled, eh, Mr Bray?”

Kate Lee’s face crimsoned, and she darted an appealing look to her mother, one not misinterpreted by the other visitor, who assumed not to have heard his host’s remark.

But farther remark was checked by a boisterous “Hillo!” a horse cantered up to the door, and Edward Murray, flushed and heated, sprang to the ground, to fold Kate Lee in his arms in an instant, and then heartily salute the rest of the family.

“Couldn’t overtake you, Mr Meadows,” said the young sailor, “though I saw your old umbrella bobbing down the valley like a travelling mushroom.”

“There, parson, there’s no best bed for you to-night,” said the settler. “The woman-kind worship this fellow, and you’ll only come off second best.”

“I can be happy anywhere,” said Mr Meadows. “Don’t incommode yourselves for me.”

Meanwhile it needed no interpreter to tell of the intimacy between Edward Murray and Kate Lee. A love the growth of years – the love that had induced him to quit the navy; for he had felt unable to settle when old Lee had left his native town, driven by misfortunes to settle in one of the colonies, New Zealand being his choice, where now, after some years’ hard fight with difficulties, he was living a wealthy, patriarchal life in this pleasant valley.

So Edward Murray had found no difficulty in getting appointed to a trader, which, however little in accordance with his tastes, took him at least once a year to where he could visit the Lees in their new home.

At first, old Lee did not evince much pleasure at the sight of the young man, for he had seen Anthony Bray’s dark visage grow more dark as he tugged at his handkerchief, and then, after a vain attempt at showing his nonchalance, he rose hastily and quitted the place, followed by the eyes of Mr Meadows, who generally contrived to see all, and to interpret things pretty correctly.

And he made few mistakes in the conclusions he had that evening arrived at; for, but that very afternoon, Anthony Bray had, after months of unsuccessful wooing, asked the maiden to be his wife, but only to meet with an unconditional refusal; for Katie Lee possessed a faith not shared by both her parents, and it was with a triumphant joy in her bright eyes that she took her place quietly by Edward Murray’s side, as he told of his long and stormy travels since he met them a year ago.

“And when did you get into the bay?” inquired old Lee.

“Only last night,” said the young man.

“Then you have lost little time,” said Mr Meadows.

“Well, no,” said the other simply. “I wanted to get here, and see what I’ve been thinking about for the last twelve months;” and he turned to Katie, whose eyes met his for an instant, and then fell as her colour heightened.

“Ah! it’s all plain enough what it means, Mr Meadows,” said Mrs Lee. “Martin, there, used to tell me, years ago, that now I was a wife, I must stay at home, and cry ‘clack, clack,’ to the chickens; and now it seems that I’m going to cry ‘clack, clack’ in vain; for one’s chick is going to ran away, when she might be happily settled down here close by, where we could see her.”

Katie’s wandering and troubled look fell upon Mr Meadows, who smiled grimly, as he said, “I’m afraid, ma’am, that your poor mother would have to cry ‘cluck, cluck’ very loudly before you would hear her all these thousand miles away. It’s nature, ma’am, nature. As the old birds mated in the pleasant spring of life, so will the young ones; and God bless them, say I, and may they be happy!”

“Amen!” said old Martin; “there’s no getting over that, wife. All I want is to see some one happy; and I’m afraid it’s rather a mistake when old folks try to manufacture the youngsters’ future. That’s about the best sermon I ever heard from you, Parson Meadows; it was short, and to the point. I’ve been wrong, I know; but then she talked me into it.” And he nodded towards his wife, who rose and left the room, while Kate crept to her father’s side, Edward following Mrs Lee out into the garden, where the long, conversation that ensued must have terminated favourably; for when Kate, who had been anxiously watching for their return, at length followed them out into the bright moonlit space in front of the house, she was encountered by her mother, who whispered two or three words, and then hurried in, having owned herself defeated.

“And where are the young folks?” said old Lee, as she entered.

Mrs Lee made a motion with her hand, and then bustled away to superintend the arrangements for the night, besides receiving deputations of shepherds and stockmen, and acting as her husband’s prime minister, so that he might be left at liberty to entertain his visitors.

“It’s hard to manage matters, parson, when two children want the same apple,” he said.

“Yes, yes,” said the minister; “all you have to do is to give it to the most deserving. There’s a simple straightforwardness about the young sailor I like, though he did compare me to a mushroom.”

“Yes, I like him,” said old Lee; “but then the wife was set on this Bray, because he’s close at hand here. But I think she’s come round, though I know she did hope that time and the long journeys would tire out the other; but he’s true as – ”

“The needle to the pole, as he’d say,” laughed the other; “and if he’s that, what more would you have?”

“Who? I? Nothing, nothing. I only want to see the little lass happy. I’m sorry for Bray, though. I suppose he could not bear to see it, for he has gone.”

“Yes, he went long enough ago, scowling furiously. I hope, friend Lee, there will be no unpleasantry between them.”

“O, nonsense!” ejaculated the old settler; and farther converse was stopped by the entrance of the young people.

Story 3-Chapter IV.

Anthony’s Home

Martin Lee was right; for, half-choked with rage, his neighbour, Anthony Bray, had hurried out into the open, glad to get away from a scene of happiness that tortured and cut him to the heart. What was this sailor – this mate of a ship – that he should be preferred? Kate Lee had never looked on him like that, in spite of all his pleading; her face had never worn those kind smiles, nor been suffused with those rosy blushes at his approach; and it was cruel work for him to have all his hopes dashed to the ground in an instant; now hopeful – the next moment, by the entry of one stranger, plunged into misery and despair.

He hurried away to get his horse, and ride homeward; but after reaching the shed, he felt that it would look strange and unneighbourly to hurry away; so he determined to walk on a little until he grew calmer, then to return and stay till his customary hour, and go, as if nothing unusual were the matter.

“Fine evening, sir,” said a shepherd, returning with his charge.

But Bray heard him not, for the passion he sought to calm down grew hotter as he proceeded; and when at length he turned to retrace his steps, he knew that it would be madness on his part to go back to the house, unless he wished to provoke a quarrel.

The moon was high as he made his way back to where all was peace; the sunset rays still gilding the snowy tops of the mountains right and left; and, save for the occasional tinkle of a sheep-bell, or low of some beast, all was still.

Turning, by preference, from the moonlit turf, he threaded his way slowly amidst the tree-ferns and undergrowth by the pasture-side, till he once more approached the house in time to see Mrs Lee leave Katie and Edward together, when he stood, with burning cheek and knit brow, watching them, and torturing himself for a full hour, when they slowly strolled towards where he stood; and then, with a net-work of rays over them, he gazed upon a picture which seemed to madden him, till, from being cast down, Katie’s face was lifted, so that the moonbeams bathed it for a moment ere Edward Murray’s was bent down, slowly, tenderly, to press a long, loving kiss upon lips that did not shrink from the caress.

He could bear no more; but flinching backwards, as if, like some wild animal, he were preparing himself for a spring, he placed more and more distance between them; and then, forgetting his horse, he turned and fled furiously down the Gap to the little bay, where lay a small schooner. But Bray scarcely heeded the strange visitor, but turning the bend, made his way along the sands for about a mile, where another valley opened, along which he tore, panting and fierce, mile after mile, heedless of the intricacies of the path, till he reached his own dwelling. He took, mechanically, his accustomed round to see that all was safe; listened to the remarks of his men in a dumb, listless fashion; and then, throwing himself into a chair, sat, hour after hour, thinking: now, determining to be revenged – now to act with manly forbearance and fortitude, trying to crush down the misery in his heart – but all in vain, he could only recall, again and again, that moonlit scene; and as the memory of the embrace came upon him, he writhed in his chair, the veins upon his forehead growing knotted and hard, and his face black with passion.

His men had long before retired to their quarters; so that when, late in the night, there was an unusual disturbance amongst the dogs, it should have fallen to his lot to quiet them had he heard them baying; but he heard nothing, saw nothing, till a broad palm was laid upon his mouth, and his chair was dragged fiercely round, so that he was face to face with half a score of fierce, ruffianly-looking fellows, one of whom struck him back as he tried to rise to his feet.

“Keep where you are!” cried the ruffian, with an oath; “and tell us where you keep your powder and things?”

Bray, half-stunned and confused, did not reply to the demand.

“Speak, will you?” cried the fellow, blaspheming furiously as he seized the young man by the throat.

“I have hardly any,” gasped Bray, who was half-suffocated; and then, trembling for his life, he pointed out the few guns and rifles belonging to himself and men, noticing, as he did so, that some of his assailants were well armed, and some provided merely with a knife or axe.

They seized the weapons with almost a savage joy, and took possession of every scrap of lead and powder they could find, using the most horrible threats against Bray and his trembling men, whom they had bound, and dragged into the central room of the hut, if they dared to keep back any portion of their store. Then, after ransacking the place, they took every little thing that possessed value in their eyes, before consulting as to what should be done with their prisoners.

Bray’s heart sank, as he listened to their conference, and he could not for a moment doubt their readiness to perform any deed of blood. He felt that his last hour must be come, for all chance of escape seemed cut off; and, sinking into a sullen, despairing state, he was listening to the muttered appeals of his men, when a thought flashed across him which sent a gleam of ferocious joy into his eyes. The ruffians had come up this valley first, evidently from the schooner he had seen in the bay; their next foray would be up Golden Gap, when the Moa’s Nest must fall into their hands, and he would be revenged for the treatment he had received.

And Katie? He shuddered as his heart asked him that question, and he battled with himself, trying to harden, to steel his feelings against pity. He would be murdered, no doubt; and in his present state of mind he hardly wished to live – but Katie? Heavens! what a fate! He must warn them – put them on their defence. He could have slain Edward Murray – crushed his heel down upon his open English face; but Katie? – the woman? Was he a savage, that he had harboured such thoughts?

He bit his lips fiercely, and his eyes wandered eagerly round the rough-walled room in search of some means of escape; but there were none. And now, one by one, he saw his four men dragged out, the first two to go quietly, but the next moment uttering hoarse cries, shrieks for pity, for help, as if in despair at the fate awaiting them. Then, as a party of the ruffians seized the remaining two, they had taken the alarm, and begun to plead for mercy, promising anything – to show the convicts where there were richer stations – to join them – anything, if their lives were spared; for the strange silence that now prevailed outside the house, told that something dread had been enacted.

“Say a word for as, master; try and get us off! We’ve been good men to you, master – Not yet! give us a minute!” cried one poor wretch; and he struggled so fiercely, that the two men who were holding Bray hurriedly crossed the room, to kick, and help drag the unfortunate man towards the door.

It was for life; it was a moment not to be lost, and, with one bound, Bray reached the door leading into another room; dashed at it, so that it fell from its slight hinges; and then, as the report of a gun rang out, he leaped through the casement, shivering glass and leadwork to atoms, and falling heavily on the other side; but he was up in an instant, gave one glance round to see two of his men swinging in the moonlight from one of the trees, and then, followed by another shot, he rushed into the wood in front, and threaded his way rapidly through the trees, closely followed by his pursuers.

He knew that his only chance of safety was in concealment; for if he trusted to the open, they would run him down, or shoot him like a dog; or he might have made his way round by the shore, and then up Golden Gap, to warn them of the coming danger at the Moa’s Nest. He could only hide himself till the danger was over, and then – He shuddered; for once more he thought of Katie, as he hurried panting along, tripping over roots and creepers, climbing blocks of stone, till the shouts behind ceased, and he paused to take breath, resting upon a fragment of rock, and drawing heavily his laboured breath as the perspiration streamed down his face.

What could he do? How could he warn them? He felt that he must try, even if he did not succeed; though his heart told him that he would be too late, while the moon would show him as an easy mark for his pursuers. He must go, he felt, even if he laid down his life; and he turned to retrace his steps towards the track down the valley, when he stopped short.

Why could he not climb the mountain, and descend into the valley on the other side? It would be a long and arduous task; but then it would be free from enemies. He had never heard of such a feat being done; for it was the custom always to follow the track to the shore, skirt the end of the spur, and then ascend the Gap; but why could not this be possible? He would try, if he died in the attempt; and then, with panting breath, he began slowly to climb the face of the thickly-wooded mountain, finding it grow more steep and difficult as he passed every twenty yards, but fighting his way on – now finding a level spot, now a descent into a little stream-sheltering rift, which glistened in the moonbeams; but ever rising higher, till, having reached a crag by means of a long pendulous vine, he paused to breathe and listen; for a wild shriek, as from some dying despairing soul, had risen to his ear. He shuddered as it was repeated; and then shrank back into the black shade cast by a mass of lava which overhung his head, and listened again; but all was still.