There is, however, one race to whom even the smallest and wildest of our islets are a source of unceasing interest and ever-fresh, if malodorous, pleasure. Zoologists21 know them for the procreant cradles of [206]Antarctic sea-fowl22. And that, from the Kermadecs to the Bounties23 and the Antipodes, they assuredly are. On Raoul—the largest Kermadec—you may walk among thousands of mutton-birds and kick them off their nests. On the West King, gannets and mackerel gulls25 cover acre after acre so thickly that you cannot help breaking eggs as you tread, or stumbling against mother-gannets, sharp in the beak27. On dismal28 Antipodes Island, the dreary29 green of grass and sedge is picked out with big white birds like white rosettes. In the Aucklands, the wandering albatross is found in myriads30, and may be studied as it sits guarding its solitary31 egg on the rough nest from which only brute32 force will move it. On the spongy Snares, penguins34 have their rookeries; mutton-birds swarm35, not in thousands, but millions; sea-hawks prey36 on the young of other birds, and will fly fiercely at man, the strange intruder. Earth, air, and sea, all are possessed37 by birds of unimaginable number and intolerable smell. Penguins describe curves in the air as they dive neatly38 from the rocks. Mutton-birds burrow39 in the ground, whence their odd noises mount up strangely. Their subterranean40 clamour mingles41 with the deafening42 discords43 of the rookeries above ground. On large patches the vegetation is worn away and the surface defiled44. All the water is fouled45. The odour, like the offence of Hamlet’s uncle, “is rank: it smells to Heaven.” Mr. Justice Chapman found it strong a mile out to sea. In that, however, the Snares must cede46 the palm to the Bounties; dreadful and barren rocks on which a few [207]insects—a cricket notably—alone find room to exist among the sea-birds. In violent tempests the foam47 is said to search every corner of the Bounties, cleansing48 them for the nonce from their ordure. But the purity, such as it is, is short lived. All who have smelt49 them are satisfied to hope that surf and sea-birds may ever retain possession there. Indeed, as much may be said for the Snares. Science may sometimes perambulate them, just as Science—with a handkerchief to her nose—may occasionally pick her steps about the Bounties; but none save savants and sea-lions are likely to claim any interest in these noisome50 castles of the sea-fowl.
Some of our larger outposts in the ocean are not repulsive51 by any means. If human society were of no account, the Kermadecs would be pleasant enough. One or two of them seem much more like Robinson Crusoe’s fertile island, as we read of it in Defoe’s pages, than is Juan Fernandez. Even the wild goats are not lacking. Flowering trees grow on well-wooded and lofty Raoul; Meyer Island has a useful boat-harbour; good fish abound52 in the warm and pellucid53 sea. To complete the geniality54, the largest island—some seven or eight thousand acres in size—has a hot bathing-pool. One heroic family defy solitude55 there, cultivate the fertile soil, and grow coffee, bananas, figs56, vines, olives, melons, peaches, lemons, citrons, and, it would seem, anything from grenadilloes to potatoes. Twenty years ago, or thereabout, our Government tempted57 a handful of settlers to try life there. A volcanic58 disturbance59 scared them away, however, and the one family has [208]since plodded60 on alone. Stories are told of the life its members live, of their skill in swimming and diving, and their struggles with armies of rats and other troubles. Once when the steamer that visits them yearly was late, its captain found the mother of the family reduced to her last nib—with which she nevertheless had kept up her diary. On board the steamer was the lady’s eldest61 daughter, a married woman living in New Zealand. She was making a rough voyage of a thousand miles to see her mother—for two days. Sooner or later—if talk means anything—Auckland enterprise will set up a fish-curing station on Meyer Island. That, I suppose, will be an answer to the doubts which beset62 the minds of the Lords of the British Admiralty when this group, with its Breton name, was annexed63 to New Zealand. The colony asked for it, and the Lords Commissioners64 of the Admiralty were duly consulted. Their secretary wrote a laconic65 reply to the Colonial Office observing that if New Zealand wanted the Kermadecs my Lords saw “no particular reason” why “that colony” should not have “these islands or islets”; but of what possible use they could be to New Zealand my Lords couldn’t imagine.
The Three Kings mark a point in our history. It was on the 5th of January that Tasman discovered them. So he named them after the three wise kings of the East—Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. The Great King, the largest of them, is not very great, for it contains, perhaps, six or seven hundred acres. It is cliff-bound,[209] but a landing may usually be made on one side or the other, for its shape resembles the device of the Isle6 of Man. Into one of its coves66 a cascade17 comes down, tumbling two hundred feet from a green and well-timbered valley above. Tasman saw the cascade; and as the Heemskirk and her cockle-shell of a consort67 were short of fresh water, he sent “Francis Jacobsz in our shallop, and Mr. Gillimans, the supercargo,” with casks to be filled. When, however, the two boats neared the rocks, the men found thereon fierce-looking, well-armed natives, who shouted to them in hoarse69 voices. Moreover, the surf ran too high for an easy landing. So the Dutchmen turned from the white cascade, and pulled back to Tasman, who took them aboard again, and sailed away, to discover the Friendly Islands. Thus it came about that though he discovered our country, and spent many days on our coasts, neither he nor any of his men ever set foot on shore there. Did Francis Jacobsz, one wonders, really think the surf at Great King so dangerous? Or was it that good Mr. Gillimans, supercargo and man of business, disliked the uncomfortable-looking spears and patu-patu in the hands of the Rarewa men? Tasman, at any rate, came to no harm at the Three Kings, which is more than can be said of all shipmasters; for they are beset with tusky70 reefs and strong currents. A noted71 wreck72 there was that of the steamship73 Elingamite, which went down six years ago, not far from the edge of the deep ocean chasm74 where the submarine foundations of New Zealand seem to end suddenly in a deep cleft75 of ocean.
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Thanks to a thick white fog, she ran on a reef in daylight on a quiet Sunday morning. She was carrying fifty-eight of a crew and about twice as many passengers. There was but a moderate sea, and, as those on board kept cool, four boats and two rafts were launched. Though one boat was capsized, and though waves washed several persons off the wreck, nearly every one swam to a boat or was picked up. One woman, however, was picked up dead. No great loss or sufferings need have followed but for the fog. As it was, the shipwrecked people were caught by currents, and had to row or drift about blindly. Their fates were various. The largest boat, with fifty-two souls, was luckiest: it reached Hohoura on the mainland after but twenty-five hours of wretchedness. There the Maori—like the barbarous people of Melita—showed them no small kindness. It is recorded that one native hurried down to the beach with a large loaf, which was quickly divided into fifty-two morsels76. Others came with horses, and the castaways, helped up to the kainga, had hot tea and food served out to them. Whale-boats then put out and intercepted77 a passing steamer, which at once made for the Three Kings. There, on Tuesday, eighty-nine more of the shipwrecked were discovered and rescued. One party of these had come within a hundred and fifty yards of an islet, only to be swept away by a current against which they struggled vainly. Finally, they made Great King, and supported life on raw shell-fish till, on the third day after the wreck, the sun, coming out, enabled them (with the aid of their [211]watch-glasses) to dry the six matches which they had with them. Five of these failed to ignite; the sixth gave them fire, and, with fire, hope and comparative comfort. They even gave chase to the wild goats of the island, but, needless to say, neither caught nor killed any.
One of the rafts, unhappily, failed to make land at all. A strong current carried it away to sea, and in four days it drifted sixty-two miles. Fifteen men and one woman were on it, without food or water, miserably78 clothed, and drenched79 incessantly80 by the wash or spray. The woman gave up part of her clothing to half-naked men, dying herself on the third day. Four others succumbed81 through exhaustion82; two threw themselves into the sea in delirium83. Three steamers were out searching for the unfortunates. It was the Penguin33, a King’s ship, which found them, as the fifth day of their sufferings was beginning, and when but one man could stand upright. The captain of the man-of-war had carefully gauged84 the strength of the current, and followed the raft far out to the north-east.
Gold and silver, to the value of ￡17,000, went down with the Elingamite. Treasure-seekers have repeatedly tried to fish it up, but in vain.
WEAVING THE KAITAKA
Five hundred miles to the east of Banks’ Peninsula lie the pleasant group called the Chatham Islands. They owe their auspicious85 name to their luck in being discovered in 1790 by the Government ship Chatham. Otherwise they might have been named after Lord [212]Auckland, or Mr. Robert Campbell, or Stewart the sealer, as have others of our islands. They are fabled86 of old to have been, like Delos, floating isles, borne hither and thither87 by sea and wind. The Apollo who brought them to anchor was the demi-god Kahu. The myth, perhaps, had its origin in the powerful currents which are still a cause of anxiety to shipmasters navigating88 the seas round their shores. They are fertile spots, neither flat nor lofty, but altogether habitable. The soft air is full of sunshine, tempered by the ocean haze89, and in it groves90 of karaka-trees, with their large polished leaves and gleaming fruit, flourish as they flourish nowhere else. Neither too hot nor cold, neither large nor impossibly small—they are about two and a half times the size of the Isle of Wight,—the Chathams, one would think, should have nothing in their story but pleasantness and peace. And, as far as we know, the lot of their old inhabitants, the Moriori, was for centuries marked neither by bloodshed nor dire91 disaster. The Moriori were Polynesians akin26 to, yet distinct from, the Maori. Perhaps they were the last separate remnant of some earlier immigrants to New Zealand; or it is possible that their canoes brought them from the South Seas to the Chathams direct; at any rate they found the little land to their liking92, and living there undisturbed, increased till, a hundred years ago, they mustered94 some two thousand souls. Unlike the Maori, they were not skilled gardeners; but they knew how to cook fern-root, and how to render the poisonous karaka berries innocuous. Their rocks and reefs were nesting-places [213]for albatrosses and mutton-birds; so they had fowl and eggs in plenty. A large and very deep lagoon95 on their main island—said to be the crater96 of a volcano—swarmed with eels97.
They were clever fishermen, and would put to sea on extraordinary rafts formed of flax sticks buoyed98 up by the bladders of the giant kelp. Their beaches were well furnished with shell-fish. Finally, the fur seal haunted their shores in numbers, and supplied them with the warmest of clothing. Indeed, though they could weave mantles99 of flax, and dye them more artistically100 than the Maori, they gradually lost the art: their sealskin mantles were enough for them. As the life of savages102 goes, theirs seems to have been, until eighty years ago, as happy as it was peaceful and absolutely harmless. For the Moriori did not fight among themselves, and having, so far as they knew, no enemies, knew not the meaning of war. They were rather expert at making simple tools of stone and wood, but had no weapons, or any use therefor.
Upon these altogether inoffensive and unprovocative islanders came a series of misfortunes which in a couple of decades wiped out most of the little race, broke its spirit, and doomed103 it to extinction104. What had they done to deserve this—the fate of the Tasmanians? They were not unteachable and repulsive like the Tasmanians. Thomas Potts, a trained observer, has minutely described one of them, a survivor105 of their calamitous106 days. He saw in the Moriori a man [214]“robust in figure, tall of stature107, not darker in colour perhaps than many a Maori, but of a dull, dusky hue108, rather than of the rich brown” so common in the Maori. Prominent brows, almond eyes, and a curved, somewhat fleshy nose gave the face a Jewish cast. The eyes seemed quietly watchful—the eyes of a patient animal “not yet attacked, but preparing or prepared for defence.” Otherwise the man’s demeanour was quiet and stolid109. Bishop110 Selwyn, too, who visited the Chathams in 1848, bears witness to the courteous111 and attractive bearing of the Moriori. They were not drunken, irreclaimably vicious, or especially slothful. They were simply ignorant, innocent, and kindly112, and so unfitted for wicked times and a reign113 of cruelty.
White sealers and whalers coming in friendly guise114 began their destruction, exterminating115 their seals, scaring away their sea-fowl, infecting them with loathsome116 diseases. Worse was to come. In the sealing schooners117 casual Maori seamen visited the Chathams, and saw in them a nook as pleasant and defenceless as the city of Laish. One of these wanderers on his return home painted a picture of the group to an audience of the Ngatiawa tribe in words which Mr. Shand thus renders:—
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“There is an island out in the ocean not far from here to the eastward119. It is full of birds—both land and sea-birds—of all kinds, some living in the peaty soil, with albatross in plenty on the outlying islands. There is abundance of sea and shell-fish; the lakes swarm with eels; and it is a land of the karaka. The inhabitants are very numerous, but they do not know how to fight, and have no weapons.”
“TE HONGI”
His hearers saw a vision of a Maori El Dorado! But how was it to be reached? In canoes they could not venture so far, nor did they know the way. Doubtless, however, they remembered how Stewart of the Elisabeth had carried Rauparaha and his warriors120 to Akaroa in the hold of his brig a few years before. Another brig, the Rodney, was in Cook’s Strait now, seeking a cargo68 of scraped flax. Her captain, Harewood, was not such a villain121 as Stewart; but if he could not be bribed122 he could be terrified—so thought the Ngatiawa. In Port Nicholson (Wellington harbour) lies a little islet with a patch of trees on it, like a tuft of hair on a shaven scalp. Nowadays it is used as a quarantine place for dogs and other doubtful immigrants. Thither the Ngatiawa decoyed Harewood and a boat’s crew, and then seizing the men, cajoled or frightened the skipper into promising123 to carry them across the sea to their prey. Whether Harewood made much ado about transporting the filibustering124 cannibals to the Chathams will probably never be known. He seems to have had some scruples125, but they were soon overcome, either by fear or greed. Once the bargain was struck he performed his part of it without flinching126. The work of transport was no light task. No less than nine hundred of the Maori of Cook’s Strait had resolved to take part in the enterprise, so much had Rauparaha’s freebooting exploits in the south inflamed127 and unsettled his tribe. To carry this invading horde128 [216]to the scene of their enterprise the Rodney had to make two trips. On the first of them the Maori were packed in the hold like the negroes on a slaver, and when water ran short suffered miseries129 of thirst. Had the Moriori known anything of war they might easily have repelled130 their enemies. As it was, the success of the invasion was prompt and complete. Without losing a man the Maori soon took possession of the Chathams and their inhabitants. The land was parcelled out among the new-comers, and the Moriori and their women tasted the bitterness of enslavement by insolent131 and brutal132 savages. They seem to have done all that submissiveness could do to propitiate133 their swaggering lords. But no submissiveness could save them from the cruelty of barbarians134 drunk with easy success. Misunderstandings between master and slave would be settled with a blow from a tomahawk. On at least two occasions there were massacres135, the results either of passion or panic. In one of these fifty Moriori were killed; in the other, perhaps three times that number of all ages and sexes. On the second occasion the dead were laid out in a line on the sea-beach, parents and children together, so that the bodies touched each other. The dead were of course eaten; it is said that as many as fifty were baked in one oven. I have read, moreover, that the Maori coolly kept a number of their miserable136 slaves penned up, feeding them well, and killed them from time to time like sheep when butcher’s meat was wanted. This last story is, I should think, doubtful, for as the whole island was but one large slave-pen, [217]there could be no object in keeping victims shut up in a yard. The same story has been told of Rauparaha’s treatment of the islanders of Kapiti. But Kapiti is but a few miles from the main shore, and one of his destined137 victims, a woman, is said to have swum across the strait with her baby on her back. The unhappy Moriori had nowhere to flee to, unless they were to throw themselves into the sea. The white traders and sealers on the coast were virtually in league with their oppressors. The only escape was death, and that way they were not slow to take. Chroniclers differ as to the precise disease which played havoc138 with them, but I should imagine that the pestilence139 which walked among them in the noonday was Despair. At any rate their number, which had been 2000 in 1836, was found to be 212 in 1855. The bulk of the race had then found peace in the grave. It is a relief to know that the sufferings of the survivors140 had by that time come to an end. Long before 1855 the British flag had been hoisted141 on the Chathams and slavery abolished. After a while the New Zealand Government insisted upon a certain amount of land being given back to the Moriori. It was a small estate, but it was something. The white man, now lord of all, made no distinction between the two brown races, and in process of time the Maori, themselves reduced to a remnant, learned to treat the Moriori as equals. These better days, however, came too late. The Moriori recognised this. For in 1855, seeing that their race was doomed, they met together and solemnly agreed that the chronicles of their people [218]should be arranged and written down, so that when the last was dead, their name and story should not be forgotten. The conquering Maori themselves did not fare so much better. They stood the test of their easy success as badly as did Pizarro’s filibusters142 in Peru. They quarrelled with their friends, the white traders and sealers, and suffered in an unprovoked onslaught by the crew of a certain French ship, the Jean Bart. Then two of the conquering clans143 fell out and fought with each other. In the end a number of them returned to New Zealand, and the remainder failed to multiply or keep up their strength in the Chathams. In the present day Moriori and Maori together—for their blood has mingled—do not number two hundred souls.
WAHINE’S CANOE RACE ON THE WAIKATO
The affair of the Jean Bart is a curious story. The vessel144, a French whaler, anchored off the Chathams in 1839. Eager to trade, the Maori clambered on board in numbers. They began chaffering, and also quarrelling with one another, in a fashion that alarmed the captain. He gave wine to some of his dangerous visitors, and tried to persuade them to go ashore145 again. Many did so, but several score were still in the ship when she slipped her cable and stood out to sea. Then the Frenchmen, armed with guns and lances, attacked the Maori, who were without weapons, and cleared the decks of them. The fight, however, did not end there. A number of the Ngatiawa were below, whither the whites did not venture to follow them. They presently made their way into a storeroom, found muskets146 there, and opened fire on the crew. Two of the Frenchmen [219]fell, and the remainder in panic launched three boats and left the ship. By this time the Jean Bart was out of sight of land, but the Maori managed to sail back. She went ashore, and was looted and burnt. About forty natives had been killed in the strange bungling147 and causeless slaughter148. The whalers and their boats were heard of no more. It is thought that they were lost in the endeavour to make New Zealand.[6]
[6] In the Journal of the Polynesian Society, vol. i., Mr. A. Shand summarises and compares the various versions of this odd business.
We have seen how the Maori began their invasion of the Chathams by the seizure149 of the Rodney at Port Nicholson. It is curious that the best-known incident of the subsequent history of the group was almost the exact converse150 of this—I mean the seizure at the Chathams of the schooner118 Rifleman in July 1868. In this case, too, the aggressors were Maori, though they did not belong to the Chathams. They were prisoners of war or suspected natives deported151 thither from the North Island, and kept there under loose supervision152 by a weak guard. Their leader, Te Kooti, had never borne arms against us, and had been imprisoned153 and exiled on suspicion merely. A born leader of men, he contrived154 the capture of the Rifleman very cleverly, and sailed her back to the North Island successfully, taking with him one hundred and sixty-three men and one hundred and thirty-five women and children. The schooner was carrying a respectable cargo of ammunition155, accoutrements, food, and tobacco; but the fugitives156 could muster93 between them only about thirty [220]rifles and guns. Yet with this scanty157 supply of weapons Te Kooti managed to kindle158 a flame in the Poverty Bay district that took years to extinguish. Finally, after massacring many settlers, and winning or losing a series of fights with our militia159 and their native allies, his forces were scattered160, and he was hunted away with a few followers161 into the country of the Maori king. There he was allowed to settle undisturbed. He lived long enough to be forgiven, to have his hand shaken by our Native Minister, and to have a house with a bit of land given to him by the Government. He was not a chivalrous162 opponent. A savage101, he made war in savage fashion. But he was a capable person; and I cannot resist the conclusion that in being banished163 to the Chathams and kept there without trial, he was given reason to think himself most unjustly used.
The only trouble given by the natives at the Chathams in later days took the form of a little comedy. The Maori there own a good deal of live-stock, including some thousands of sheep and a number of unpleasant and objectionable dogs. The Maori kuri, an unattractive mongrel at the best, is never popular with white settlers; but in the year 1890 the kuri of the Chathams became a distinct nuisance. A dog-tax was levied165 on the owners, but this failed either to make them reduce the number of their dogs or restrain them from worrying the flocks of the white settlers. If I remember rightly, the Maori simply declined to pay the dog-tax. When they were prosecuted166 and fined, they refused to pay the fines. The [221]Government of the day, with more vigour167 than humour, despatched a steamer to the Chathams, arrested some forty of the recalcitrants, brought them to the South Island, and lodged168 them in Lyttelton Gaol169. The Maori, who have a keen sense of the ridiculous, offered no resistance whatever. I suspect that they did not greatly dislike the trip; it enabled them to see the world. Their notion of hard labour and prison discipline was to eat well, to smoke tobacco, and to bask in the sunshine of the prison yard. It was impossible to treat them harshly. After a while they were sent home, where their adventure formed food for conversation in many and many a nocturnal korero. In the meantime their dogs lived and continued to chase sheep. At this stage the writer of these pages joined the New Zealand Government, and the unhappy white flock-owners laid their troubles before him. At first the little knot did not seem, to an inexperienced Minister, quite easy to untie24. After some cogitation170, however, a way was found of ending the comedy of errors. What that was is another story. Since then, no more terrible incident has disturbed the Chathams than the grounding of an Antarctic iceberg171 on their coast—a somewhat startling apparition172 in latitude173 44° south.
Otherwise the Chatham islanders have gone on for the last forty years living quietly in the soft sea-air of their little Arcadia, without roads and without progress. They grow wool and export it; for the rest, they exist. A small steamer visits them half-a-dozen times a year, and brings news, groceries, and clothes, also [222]the correct time. Great is the tribulation174 when her coming is delayed. A friend of mine who witnessed a belated arrival tells me that the boat found a famine raging. The necessaries lacking, however, were not food, but tobacco and hairpins175. The 60,000 sheep depastured on the islands have played havoc with some of the native vegetation, and have brought down retribution in the shape of moving drifts of blown sea-sand, whereby many acres of good pasture have been overwhelmed. However, that wonderful binding176 grass, the marram, has been used to stop the sand, and is said to have stayed the scourge177. Much native “bush” is still left, and shows the curious spectacle of a forest where trees spread luxuriantly but do not grow to much more than twenty feet in height. That, says Professor Dendy, is due to the sea-winds—not cold, but laden178 with salt. In this woodland you may see a veronica which has become a tree, a kind of sandalwood, and a palm peculiar179 to the islands. That beautiful flower, the Chatham Island lily—which, by the way, is not a lily,—blooms in many a New Zealand garden.
The Auckland Isles lie some three hundred miles south of our mainland. They are nearly four times the size of St. Helena, where, as we know, several thousand people have in the past managed to live, chiefly on beef and a British garrison180. No one, however, now lives in the Aucklands. New Zealanders speak of their climate in much the same strain as [223]Frenchmen use when talking of November fogs in London. There are, however, worse climates in several parts of the United Kingdom. It does not always rain there; there are many spots where you are sheltered from the wind. It is not so cold but that tree-ferns will grow—the group is their southern limit. The leaning or bowed habits of the forest are due as much, perhaps, to the peaty soil as to the sou’westers. Vegetables flourish; goats, pigs, and cattle thrive. So far are the valleys and hill-sides from being barren that their plant-life is a joy to the New Zealand botanists181, who pray for nothing so much as that settlement may hold its hand and not molest182 this floral paradise. Pleurophyllums, celmisias, gentians, veronicas, grass-trees, spread beside the sea-gulfs as though in sub-alpine meadows. The leaves are luxuriant, the flowers richer in colour than on our main islands. The jungle of crouching183 rata tinges184 the winding185 shores with its summer scarlet186. Dense187 as are the wind-beaten groves, the scrub that covers the higher slopes is still more closely woven. The forest you may creep through; the scrub is virtually impenetrable. A friend of mine, anxious to descend188 a steep slope covered with it, did so by lying down and rolling on the matted surface. He likened it to a wire-mattress—with a broken wire sticking up here and there.
In addition to their botanical fame, the Aucklands have a sinister189 renown190 among seafaring men. Nature has provided the group with nearly a dozen good harbours. Two among these, Port Ross and Carnley [224]Harbour, have found champions enthusiastic enough to style them the finest seaports191 in the world. Yet, despite this abundance of shelter, the isles are infamous192 as the scene of shipwrecks193. They are in the track of Australian ships making for Cape Horn by passing to the south of New Zealand. In trying to give a wide berth195 to the Snares, captains sometimes go perilously196 near the Aucklands. To go no further back, eight wrecks194 upon them have been recorded during the last forty-five years; while earlier, in 1845, there are said to have been three in one year. The excellent harbours, unluckily, open towards the east; the ships running before the westerly winds are dashed against the terrible walls of rock which make the windward face of the group. The survivors find themselves on desolate197 and inclement198 shores hundreds of miles from humanity. Many are the tales of their sufferings. Even now, though the Government of New Zealand keeps up two well-stocked dep?ts of food and clothing there, and despatches a steamer to search for castaways once or twice a year, we still read of catastrophes199 followed by prolonged misery200. Five men from a crew of the Grafton, lost in 1864, spent no less than eighteen months on the islands. At length they patched up the ship’s pinnace sufficiently201 to carry three of them to Stewart’s Island, where they crept into Port Adventure in the last stage of exhaustion. The two comrades they had left behind were at once sent for and brought away. Less lucky were four sailors who, after the wreck of the General Grant, two years later, tried to [225]repeat the feat202 of a boat-voyage to Stewart Island. They were lost on the way. Indeed, of eighty-three poor souls cast away with the General Grant, only ten were ultimately rescued, after spending a forlorn six months on the isles. The case of the General Grant was especially noteworthy. She did not run blindly against the cliffs in a tempest, but spent hours tacking203 on and off the western coast in ordinary weather. Finally, she found her way into a cave, where she went down with most of those on board her. At least ￡30,000 in gold went with her, and in the effort to find the wreck and recover the money, the cutter Daphne was afterwards cast away, with the loss of six lives more.
Cruel indeed was the ill-luck of the crew of the four-masted barque Dundonald which struck on the Aucklands in March 1907. They saw a cliff looming204 out just over their bows shortly after midnight. An attempt to wear the ship merely ended in her being hurled205 stern foremost into a kind of tunnel. The bow sank, and huge seas washed overboard the captain, his son, and nine of the crew. Sixteen took refuge in the tops, and one of them, a Russian, crept from a yard-arm on to a ledge206 of the cliff. After daylight a rope was flung to him and doubled, and along this bridge—sixty feet in air above the surges—fifteen men contrived to crawl. On reaching the summit of the cliff they discovered the full extent of their bad fortune. They had been cast away, not on the larger Aucklands, but on the peaked rock ominously207 named [226]Disappointment Island. It contains but four or five square miles, and is five miles away from the next of the group. Heart-stricken at the discovery, the chief mate lay down and died in a few days. The second mate’s health also gave way. The carpenter and sail-maker, whose skill would have been worth so much to the castaways, had been drowned with the captain. A few damp matches and some canvas and rope were almost all that was saved from the ship before she disappeared in deep water.
For seven months the survivors managed to live on Disappointment Island, showing both pluck and ingenuity208. For a day or two they had to eat raw sea-birds. Then, when their matches had dried, they managed to kindle a fire of peat—a fire which they did not allow to expire for seven months. They learned a better way of cooking sea-fowl than by roasting them. At the coming of winter weather they dug holes in the peat, and building over these roofs of sods and tussock-grass, lay warm and dry thereunder. These shelters, which have been likened to Kaffir kraals, appear to have been modelled on Russian pig-sties. The seamen found a plant with large creeping stems, full of starch209, and edible—by desperate men. When the seals came to the islands they mistook them for sea-serpents, but presently finding out their mistake, they lowered hunters armed with clubs to the foot of the cliffs, and learned, after many experiments, that the right place to hit a seal is above the nose. They found penguins tough eating, and seal’s flesh something to be reserved [227]for dire extremity210. Their regular ration211 of sea-birds, they said, was three molly-hawks a day for each man. As to that, one can only say, with Dominie Sampson, “Prodigious!” Searching their islet they lighted upon a crack in the ring of cliff where a waterfall tumbled into a quiet little boat-harbour, the bathing-pool of sea-lions. Then they determined212 to build a boat and reach that elysium, the main island, with its dep?t of stores. With greased canvas and crooked213 boughs214 cut from the gnarled veronica, which was their only timber, they managed to botch up something between a caricature of a Welsh coracle and “the rotten carcase of a boat” in which Antonio and the King of Naples turned Prospero and Miranda adrift. Rowing this leaky curiosity with forked sticks, three picked adventurers reached the main island—only to return without reaching the dep?t. Another boat, and yet another, had to be built before a second transit215 could be achieved; and when the second crossing was effected, the coracle sank as the rowers scrambled216 on shore. This, however, completed the catalogue of their disasters, and was “the last of their sea-sorrow.” The dep?t was reached in September, and in the boat found there the tenants217 of Disappointment Island were removed to comfort and good feeding at Port Ross. With the help of an old gun they did some cattle-shooting on Enderby Island hard by, and in the end were taken off by the Government steamer Hinemoa in December.
Campbell Island, another habitable though sad-coloured spot, is a kind of understudy of the Auck[228]lands—like them, but smaller, with less striking scenery and scantier218 plant life. It has, however, a local legend odd enough to be worth repeating. In the hodden-grey solitude there are certain graves of shipwrecked men and others. Among them is one called the Grave of the Frenchwoman. On the strength of this name, and of a patch of Scottish heather blooming near it, a tale has grown up, or been constructed, which would be excellent and pathetic if there were the slightest reason to suppose it true. It is that the Frenchwoman who sleeps her last sleep in rainy Campbell Island was a natural daughter of Charles Edward, the Young Pretender. She has even been identified with the daughter of Prince Charles and Clementina Walkenshaw, the Scottish lady who met him at Bannockburn House in the ’45, and long afterwards joined him abroad. This daughter—says the New Zealand story—became, when she grew up, an object of suspicion to the Prince’s Jacobite followers. They believed that she was a spy in the pay of the English Court. So they induced Stewart, a Scottish sea-captain, to kidnap the girl and carry her to some distant land. Stewart—whose name remains219 on our Stewart Island—did his work as thoroughly220 as possible by sailing with her to the antipodes of France. On the way he gained her affections, and established her at Campbell Island, where she died and was buried. Such is the story; sentiment has even been expended221 on the connection between Bonnie Prince Charlie and the patch of heather aforesaid.
It is true certainly that there was a daughter named [229]Charlotte or Caroline, or both, born to the Prince and Miss Walkenshaw in the year 1753. But it was the mother, not the daughter, who was suspected of being a spy in English pay. Clementina left the Prince, driven away by his sottish brutalities, just as did his legal wife, the Countess of Albany. The Countess adjusted her account by running away with Alfieri the poet. Abandoned by both women, Charles seems to have found some consolation222 in the society of his daughter Charlotte, to whom, even in his last degraded years, he showed his better side. He went through the form of making her Duchess of Albany. She remained with him till his death in 1788, and seems to have followed him to the grave a year afterwards. In any case, Stewart, the sea-captain of the legend, did not find his way to our southern isles till the earlier years of the nineteenth century. That was too late by a generation for Jacobite exiles to be concerned about the treachery of English agents. He is described in Surgeon-Major Thomson’s book as a man “who had seen the world and drunk Burgundy,” so it is possible that the story may have had a Burgundian origin. Who the buried Frenchwoman was I cannot say, but French seamen and explorers, as the map shows, have visited and examined Campbell Island. It would be a desolate spot for a Frenchwoman to live in; but when we are under earth, then, if the grave be deep enough, all lands, I suppose, are much alike.
The End
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1
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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3
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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fissures
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| n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 )；裂伤；分歧；分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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zoologists
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| 动物学家( zoologist的名词复数 ) | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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bounties
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| （由政府提供的）奖金( bounty的名词复数 )； 赏金； 慷慨； 大方 | |
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untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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penguin
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| n.企鹅 | |
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penguins
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| n.企鹅( penguin的名词复数 ) | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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mingles
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| 混合，混入( mingle的第三人称单数 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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43
discords
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| 不和（discord的复数形式） | |
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44
defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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45
fouled
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| v.使污秽( foul的过去式和过去分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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46
cede
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| v.割让，放弃 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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48
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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49
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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50
noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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51
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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52
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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53
pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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54
geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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55
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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56
figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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57
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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58
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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59
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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64
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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tusky
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| adj.有獠牙的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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72
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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77
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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81
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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82
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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83
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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84
gauged
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| adj.校准的；标准的；量规的；量计的v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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85
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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86
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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87
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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88
navigating
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| v.给（船舶、飞机等）引航，导航( navigate的现在分词 )；（从海上、空中等）横越；横渡；飞跃 | |
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89
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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90
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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91
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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92
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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93
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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94
mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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95
lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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96
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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97
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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98
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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99
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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100
artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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101
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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102
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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103
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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104
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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105
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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106
calamitous
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| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
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107
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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108
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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109
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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110
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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111
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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112
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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113
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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114
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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115
exterminating
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| v.消灭，根绝( exterminate的现在分词 ) | |
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116
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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117
schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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118
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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119
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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120
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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121
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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122
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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123
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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124
filibustering
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| v.阻碍或延宕国会或其他立法机构通过提案( filibuster的现在分词 )；掠夺 | |
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125
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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126
flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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127
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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129
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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130
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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131
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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132
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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133
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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134
barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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135
massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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136
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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137
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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138
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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139
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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140
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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141
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
filibusters
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| n.掠夺兵( filibuster的名词复数 )；暴兵；（用冗长的发言）阻挠议事的议员；会议妨碍行为v.阻碍或延宕国会或其他立法机构通过提案( filibuster的第三人称单数 )；掠夺 | |
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143
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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144
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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145
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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146
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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147
bungling
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| adj.笨拙的，粗劣的v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的现在分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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148
slaughter
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|
| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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149
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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150
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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151
deported
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| v.将…驱逐出境( deport的过去式和过去分词 )；举止 | |
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152
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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153
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
contrived
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|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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155
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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156
fugitives
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|
| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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157
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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158
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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159
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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160
scattered
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|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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161
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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162
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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163
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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165
levied
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| 征（兵）( levy的过去式和过去分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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166
prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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167
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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168
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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169
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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170
cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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171
iceberg
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| n.冰山，流冰，冷冰冰的人 | |
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172
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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173
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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174
tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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175
hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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176
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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177
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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178
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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179
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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180
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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181
botanists
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| n.植物学家，研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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182
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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183
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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184
tinges
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| n.细微的色彩，一丝痕迹( tinge的名词复数 ) | |
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185
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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186
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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187
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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188
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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189
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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190
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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191
seaports
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| n.海港( seaport的名词复数 ) | |
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192
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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193
shipwrecks
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| 海难，船只失事( shipwreck的名词复数 )； 沉船 | |
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194
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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195
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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196
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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197
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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198
inclement
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| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
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199
catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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200
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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201
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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202
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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203
tacking
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| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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204
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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205
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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206
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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207
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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208
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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209
starch
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| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
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210
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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211
ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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212
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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213
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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214
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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215
transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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216
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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217
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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218
scantier
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| adj.（大小或数量）不足的，勉强够的( scanty的比较级 ) | |
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219
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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220
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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221
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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222
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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