Part 5

The smoke of the fire could be distinctly seen from the town of Camp Crook, and after Ballenger left for the scene several of the men went into the second storey of a building to look at it. While there, someone dropped a match or cigar-end, with the result that the building was soon in flames. As all the forest rangers and most of the citizens had gone to the forest to put out the fire there, the few who remained could do nothing to extinguish the blaze, and most of the town was destroyed, including the head-quarters of the Forest Service, so that when poor Ballenger and his weary comrades returned they found they had lost all their possessions except the clothes they stood in!

At present the rangers have to care for no fewer than a hundred and sixty-six of these national forests, so called because they are controlled by the American Government. They cover a territory which is in all nearly five times the size of England. In many places past fires as well as storms and the work of the lumbermen have destroyed so many trees, that miles and miles of the woodland are ruined. From these devastated tracks spring only bushes and shrubs, with an occasional young tree. The ground is covered with charred trunks, while the skeletons of what were once forest monarchs rise skyward.

To reafforest these denuded tracts is a part of the duty of the rangers, and the supervisors and their men have the work of cultivating young trees and setting them out in such places. To obtain the necessary tree-shoots for planting they grow them from seed. For instance, young pines are secured by taking the seed from pine cones, which are opened by exposing them to the rays of the sun. Then the seed is sown in the forest nurseries. There are eight of these, situated on reserves in various parts of the West. They contain enough land to grow five million trees at one time, and as the nurseries have been in existence for several years, each year a million or more of these trees are large enough to be taken to the denuded lands and planted. Already a large area of land made worthless by the ravages of man and the elements has been reafforested in this way, and will again be ready to furnish a timber supply at the end of the next twenty years or so.

It does not seem possible that this mere handful of men could perform all the duties of the American Forest Service and yet cover such an immense region as they do, but the records of the Government show that since these police of the wilderness began going their lonely rounds the number of fires has greatly diminished, while the various national parks are in a far better condition than ever before. One of the best things about the department is that it is educating the settler in the Far West to a better sense of the value of the forests, and the wasteful and extravagant methods formerly pursued by the farmer and lumberman are gradually being abandoned.

The Legend of the Wailing Woman.

+By D. W. O. Fagan, of Mangapai, Whangarei, Auckland, New Zealand.+

The author writes: "In a cave under the cliffs of Manaia is a 'blow-hole' only actuated once in every month, at the time of the highest spring tides, when it sends forth a wailing shriek. Below I have set down the native legend concerning it, as told to me by my old Maori friend Puketawa. Allowing for idiomatic differences, the narrative is in his own words."

We beached our boat on the shore of the islet and waited the coming of the flood-tide to help us against the river current in the harbour narrows. Night had already fallen, but the sands were still warm from the heat of the sun, and though the sky was clear and full of stars, the shadows were very dark under the Pohotokawas, where we lay. Our fire had sunk to a few dull embers, and Puketawa's pipe glowed like a red eye from the darkness. Across the channel opposite, a quarter of a mile away, rose the dark mass of Manaia, its crags among the stars. Presently, the moon, rising from the sea behind us, lit the dark rocks with a flood of silver light.

On three sides of the headland cliffs rose sheer from the water to a height of two hundred feet. On the flat, table-like top a cone-shaped mass of limestone rocks, piled one above the other, rose to a further height of a hundred feet or so. The cliff of the seaward face was pierced at its base by a dark cave, into which the swell broke with gurgling echoes. On the fourth side the ground fell away in a grassy slope from the base of the rock-cone to the white sands of the bay.

At the top of the slope were the mound and ditch of an old "pah" (fort). Whence I wonder did those old-time Maoris obtain their knowledge of military fortification? Vallum and fosse, scarp and counter-scarp, the place looked like a Roman "castrum." It needed no great stretch of fancy to imagine the glint of moonbeams on brazen armour, the clang of shields and steady tramp of the legionaries on the ramparts.

I glanced at Puketawa, and saw by the sheen of his eyes through the shadows and the fierce short puffs at his pipe that his mind was back in the old legendary days, when these same cliffs rang to the clash of weapons, the fierce shouts of contending warriors, and the dying screams of the vanquished.

As the tide rose and a heavier swell rolled into the cave, there came from its dark mouth a long, sobbing cry--half wail, half shriek--the anguished cry of a woman in distress.

So sudden and startling was the sound in that lonely place, that I half sprang to my feet. Though reason told me that what I had taken for a cry of distress was but the jugglery of air and water in the rock-crevices, I remained half erect, ready, at a repetition, to launch the boat to aid. It came again, more sorrow-laden, more piercing than before.

Puketawa must have divined my thoughts, for he laid his hand upon my arm.

"It is Heruini who cries for her lover," he said.

"Who is she?"

"Listen. This is her story as it has come down through the years from mouth to mouth of the 'Tohunga,'[2] even unto this day." And then he told me the following narrative:--

[2] Priests, who preserve the oral traditions of the tribes.

* * * * *

Ere the first of the Pakeha (white men) set foot in Aoa-te-Aroha (New Zealand), and before the tribes of the north were welded into one nation, Kokako was chief of Ngatitoa. Here, at Manaia, was the stronghold of the tribe. Their lands lay broad and fertile from Waikara in the west, through Parna, even to Tukaka in the north. Flanked on three sides by the sea and the precipice, the place was a strong one.

By the slope alone could the enemy approach, and that was guarded by the "pah," whereof, as you see, the wall and ditch remain to this day. Look also how the back of the "pah" is set against the rock face. Through the rock behind runs a steep path leading to the shelf below the crags. Narrow, walled by high rocks on either side, this path was also guarded by a stockade. Beneath the topmost crags is a cave. From the cave's mouth to the cliff edge the space is narrow--scarce a spear's length in width. Up this path, should the "pah" fall, the Ngatitoa could retreat, when all was lost, to the cave, where, in the floor, there was a pool of water.

Before that time of which I speak the Ngatitoa was a tribe numerous and warlike. Now, half the fighting men had fallen in long wars, and the tribe was much weakened. Yet was Kokako still a great chief, and five hundred warriors followed him to battle.

Peace had endured for a year, but still the warriors kept ward on the ramparts. The times were evil; tribe fought with tribe, chief with chief, and none knew when the foe might come against them.

Southward across the bay lay the "hapu" (settlement) of Ngatahi, of which tribe Parema was chief. Now Parema was a man of guile, crafty and faithless. When words were fairest on his lips, then treachery was blackest in his heart. Bitter had been the feud between the tribes, but for a year there was peace.

Kokako was old, and weary with much fighting. His strong sons had fallen in battle, and of his children there remained to him but one daughter, and she was very near to his heart.

Heruini, a maiden of seventeen, beautiful as the dawning, loved her cousin Taurau, and they decided to wed. Already preparations for the marriage were being made.

Kokako was glad that the youth had found favour in Heruini's sight, for Taurau was his dead brother's son, and he thought: "It is well. Taurau will be chief at my death, and after him the son of Heruini. Thus shall my seed not perish from the land."

Now it befell that Parema and certain of his followers, to the number of two hundred, came to visit Ngatitoa. That they were uninvited did not matter--the ovens were heated and a feast was made for the visitors. Afterwards, as the chiefs talked in the "Whare-runanga" (house of assembly), Parema rose, saying: "Greeting, Kokako. It is peace between Ngatahi and Ngatitoa. Miami, my wife, groweth old. Give me, therefore, thy daughter Heruini. I would make her my second wife. Thus shall peace be strengthened between the tribes."

The insult was great. That Kokako's daughter, their "wahine-nui" (chieftainess), should be sought as a mere secondary wife fired the blood of the younger warriors. Taurau and many other Ngatitoa sprang erect, their weapons in their hands. Yet Parema was safe, for he was their guest, and the laws of Maori hospitality forbade violence. Kokako stilled the tumult and answered scornfully:--

"Parema mistakes. He has feasted too well, and talks with a proud stomach. He is not now in the 'hapu' of the Hakerau tribes, who sell their women like pigs. (Parema's wife was of the Hakerau.) To-morrow Heruini weds Taurau, my brother's son. Let Parema and his followers attend the 'hiu' (wedding-feast)."

The sleeping "whares" of the single women occupied one side of the "marae" (open space in the centre of a "pah"). Here Heruini, with two of her favourite women, slept in a separate "whare." The Ngatahi visitors camped without the walls.

In the middle of the night, towards the dawning, when sleep is heaviest on the senses, Taurau, where he slept in the men's "whare," sprang from his couch. In his ears rang a woman's scream, shrill and piercing. He heard his name called in affrighted accents. Love's ears are quick to distinguish. It was the voice of Heruini.

With a shout to his comrades to follow, he raced across the "marae" to see, in the moonlight, Heruini struggling in the arms of Parema and some of his followers! All unarmed as he was, he sprang on Parema and bore him to the ground. In the confusion the trembling girl escaped.

Taurau was dragged from Parema's throat. Yet, ere they could slay him, the Ngatahi were borne back by the rush of the enraged Ngatitoa. A comrade thrust his forgotten weapons in Taurau's hand, and he leapt into the fray.

Then there rose on the still night air a confused clamour of shrieks, yells, the clash of weapons, and screams for mercy. Kokako raged in the midst. Taurau's "mere" (battle-club) drank its fill of blood. "Slay, slay! Let not one escape," was the cry. The gates of the stockade were closed, preventing egress, and the work of death went on, whilst the sobbing women clung together, shuddering, in their quarters. A party of the Ngatitoa had meanwhile sallied forth to fall upon the sleeping camp beyond the walls. It was done. Through a broken gateway some twenty of the Ngatahi broke from that riot of blood and death to struggle, fighting, to the shore. Launching one of the canoes, battered, broken, and wounded, with scarce ten men at the paddles, they made their limping way across the bay. Of the Ngatitoa, some fifty had been slain.

* * * * *

It was dawn. The first rays of the sun lit the dark waters. High on the rock-shelf sat Taurau and Heruini. Behind them lay the mouth of the dark cavern, before them the precipice. He had been on watch since the midnight hour, and his love came to him with the morning.

Night and day had the sentinels looked across the bay from the lofty cliff. Six months had passed since the deed was done, yet had Ngatahi made no sign. Nevertheless, Ngatitoa knew that they would surely come to seek "utu" (vengeance) for the slaying. So, in the dawning, Heruini listened to the "korero-tara" (love-talk) of her lover.

Suddenly, with a cry of "Ai, Ngatahi, Ngatahi!" she pointed across the sea. Far away under the distant headland appeared a dark blot upon the face of the waters. As they gazed, the blot became a line of little dots, that grew as they came.

Taurau sprang up. Shouting, "E tana, e tana!" (the foe, the foe), he raced down the narrow path.

At once the sleeping "pah" stirred to preparation. The outlying folk were gathered within the walls, and Ngatitoa sat grimly down to await the enemy.

In twenty great canoes, each carrying a hundred men, they came. Parema had, with promises of slaves and plunder, enlisted the tribes of the Hakerau to his cause.

Who shall tell the fury of that oncoming? The canoes advanced in line--a thousand paddles, striking as one, beating the water to foam. The rowers, straining every muscle, panted on their stroke. The grinning figure-heads hissed through the foam of their coming, and in the centre of each canoe, aloft on a platform, stood a chief who chanted his "waiata" (war song), swaying his body as he beat time with his spear above his head.

The canoes raced for the beach. The speed of their onset carried them high upon the sand, and the warriors leapt to shore. Parema moved at once to the assault. The Ngatahi warriors and the wild men of the Hakerau swarmed into the ditch. On them rained a hail of spears and stones from the defenders of the "pah." They fell by scores, and were trampled, shrieking, underfoot by their onrushing comrades. Like the sea beneath the breath of the tempest, to and fro in the ditch surged the heaving, struggling mass of men under that pitiless shower.

With ladders and logs of wood, some mounted the wall to hurl themselves against the gate, attacking the stockade with axes in a vain endeavour to tear it down. The gate opened, and, Taurau at their head, out poured two hundred chosen Ngatitoa in a splendid sally. Shouting their war-cry, "Hai-o! Hai-o!" they swept the assailants from the wall and across the ditch. Naught remained in the ditch but the dying and the dead.

Then Parema changed his tactics. With trunks of trees, bags of earth, and the bodies of the dead the ditch was filled. Over these, piled pell-mell on their shrieking, wounded comrades, the Ngatahi rushed again to the assault. Then, whilst some engaged the defenders, others carried brushwood and dry fern, piling it in a great mound against the stockade. Fire was put to it, and soon the whole face of the "pah" was ablaze.

Then, when the fire had done its work, came the final assault. The weakened stockade fell before the rush, and the weary defenders found the enemy amongst them, hacking and hewing. Out-numbered, out-matched, out-generalled, Ngatitoa was broken and driven back.

Kokako was slain, but Taurau still fought. Scarcely forty men struggled up the steep path and gained the shelter of the second stockade. After them swarmed the enemy to repeat their stratagem. But the women were watching on the cliffs. Down on their heads thundered an avalanche of rocks. A moment, and the narrow path before the stockade seethed with shouting, exultant men; another, and it was bare of living thing.

Parema, seeing the slaughter, drew off his men, saying:--

"Now hunger fights for us."

For the Ngatitoa there was no food. Their food was all in the "pah" from which they had been driven. Weary with fighting, spent with hunger, the warriors yet manned the stockade. With them stood also the women. There was no thought of surrender. Well they knew what to expect--torture and death for the men, insult and slavery for the women.

* * * * *

Three days had passed--for the Ngatitoa, days of misery and want; for the enemy, of feasting and merriment. Many of the warriors died, hunger gnawing at their hearts. Scarcely a dozen remained capable of bearing arms. The women and children had taken refuge in the cave. With them was Heruini. One by one they died in the dark, as famine slew them. Now three yet lived; now two; next, Heruini was alone among the dead.

The air amid the corpses was dank and fetid. Affrighted at the presence of the dead, the girl crept to the mouth of the cavern. Weak and fainting, she leant against the wall of rock.

That night came the final assault. Ere it was delivered Taurau, seeing that all was lost, bade his men make good the defence to the utmost, and climbed the path toward the cavern. If, haply, Heruini were alive, he would take her by a secret though perilous path that he knew, and, entering the bush, make a bid for safety by flight.

Cautiously, warily, he made his way upward, keeping ever in the shadow. As his foot touched the edge of the shelf, Heruini, dazed with hunger, half blind with misery, thinking him one of the hated foemen come to take her, flung out her arms and thrust with all her might.

The blow, though feeble, was yet enough on that dizzy verge. Tottering an instant, clutching at empty air, even as he fell Taurau called her name. The moon broke through the flying scud. She saw his face for an instant, and then it was gone. The Ngatahi, rushing up to seize her, heard a cry, "Aie-e-e, Taurau!" They beheld her stand a moment on the brink, and, with a second cry, leap out into the dark. The bones of the women and children remain yet in the cavern. Therefore the place is "tapu."[3]

[3] "Tapu"--sacred, accursed.

The fish swim, uncaught, under the cliff; No fisherman's line plumbs the deep water that covers the bones of the lovers. Once in every moon the spirit of Heruini returns to wail for the lover whom she slew. For one hour she sits in the weed-grown cavern beneath the cliff, and sends her cry across the waters. Men, hearing the voice, called the place 'Tangiwahine (the place of a woman's wailing). Even so it is named to this day.

Mountaineering by Telescope.

+By Harold J. Shepstone.+

An interesting account of the giant telescopes which have been erected on the Swiss mountains. They are very popular among visitors, who are enabled to watch climbers ascending difficult peaks, and in this way many accidents have been detected, the prompt dispatch of rescue-parties saving scores of lives. The instruments are so powerful that on clear days it is possible to see a distance of a hundred miles, and persons forty miles away appear almost within hailing distance!

A new attraction has been added to the long list which Switzerland offers in the form of the powerful observing telescopes which have been erected all over the country. You find them everywhere--in the grounds of the leading hotels, at the various railway stations, and at almost every point from which a panoramic view of the mountains can be obtained. There is one on the Jungfrau, for instance, which stands at an altitude of just over ten thousand feet above sea-level, and there are many others at elevations varying from five to seven thousand feet. They are rendered conspicuous by their construction and size, and are of an efficiency which, aided by the atmospherical conditions in the mountains, almost dumbfounds the tourist from more murky regions, for it is wellnigh incredible what one can see through these giant glasses.

It is only during the last few seasons that these telescopes have been erected to any extent, but the innovation has deservedly "caught on." Few of us have time or the physical strength to ascend the highest peaks in the Alps, but we can now do our mountaineering by means of the great telescopes, a peep through which brings the solitary and almost inaccessible regions of ice and snow to our very feet. The instruments produce a wonderful stereoscopic effect, everything standing out boldly and clearly, and appearing to be only a few yards away. There, right in front of us, looms forth in solitary grandeur some bleak and lofty summit which only the feet of the most experienced Alpinists have ever trod. Below are the gullies, so treacherous to the climber, and to the right and left great ridges which can only be safely crossed by the exercise of the greatest skill. Here and there are mighty crevasses and great glaciers. Without the slightest exertion on our part the whole beauty and grandeur of the mountain is placed before our eyes.

The telescopes fulfil other useful purposes besides gratifying the sightseer. If we have friends making some dangerous or difficult ascent, we can turn the glass upon them and watch their progress step by step. Every famous ascent nowadays is invariably watched through telescopes in this way. If the climbers are forty, or even sixty, miles away they can be detected and their movements followed almost as easily as though they were within hailing distance. This watching of climbers is one of the favourite pastimes of visitors. You can see them cutting steps in the ice when negotiating some difficult ridge, watch them paying out rope as they skirt along the edge of some dangerous crevasse, and, in a word, share the pleasure and excitement of their trip.

The telescopes, too, have often been the means of saving life. When Alpinists are in serious difficulty, the guides at once make signals, and a relief party is promptly sent to their aid. The signal is the repetition of a sound, the wave of a flag, or the flash of a lantern at regular intervals, at the rate of six signals a minute, followed by a pause of a minute, with a continuation every alternate minute. Observers using the telescopes have often detected these signals before anyone else and given the alarm, when aid has at once been dispatched to those in distress. Sometimes, too, telescope-watchers have discovered climbers in difficulty, and have sent someone to their help. Were it not for the instruments, in fact, many men and women who have ventured far without guides would have perished. Only the other week a lady tourist, who had gone up the mountain alone, had a narrow escape from death, and probably owes her life to the fact that a guide happened to be idly watching her through one of the telescopes. In endeavouring to take a short cut down to the hotel she missed her footing, and in an instant found herself shooting down towards the edge of a sheer drop of a hundred and fifty feet. By the merest chance she was thrown into the branches of a pine tree some twenty feet over the edge, and there she hung, unable to move. The horrified observer at once left the telescope and informed the hotel proprietor, and in just under the hour four guides with ropes had reached the spot and rescued her. She was comparatively uninjured, but almost dead with fright.