Without waiting an instant, he began to stalk the goat, dodging amongst the bushes with feet that clung to the steep sides of the cliff as well as the animal's.Before he could reach her, she had winded him, and was off up the track.He followed, without further attempt to hide himself; but, despite his vigour and ability, would, I fancy, have stood a microscopic chance of catching her had she not been heavy with kid.As it was, he had all his work cut out for him.When he did catch her, she made so fierce it struggle for life and liberty that, in the endeavour to hold her, he missed his insecure foothold, and the pair came tumbling over and over down the cliff in a miniature avalanche of stones and dust.At the bottom they both lay quiet for a time;while I anxiously waited, fearing the rash fool was seriously injured; but in a minute or two he was on his feet again.
Lashing the goat to his body, and ignoring her struggles, he crawled out as far among the rocks as he could; then, at the approach of a big breaker, he dived to meet it, coming up outside its threatening top like a life-buoy.I pulled in, as near as Icould venture, to pick him up, and in a few minutes had him safely on board again, but suffering fearfully.In his roll down the cliff he had been without his trousers, which would have been some protection to him.Consequently, his thighs were deeply cut and torn in many places, while the brine entering so many wounds, though a grand styptic, must have tortured him unspeakably.At any rate, though he was a regular stoic to bear pain, he fainted while I was "dressing him down" in the most vigorous language Icould command for his foolhardy trick.Then we all realized what he must be going through, and felt that he was getting all the punishment he deserved, and more.The goat, poor thing! seemed none the worse for her rough handling.
The mate gave the signal to get back on board just as Polly revived, so there were no inconvenient questions asked, and we returned alongside in triumph, with such a cargo of fish as would have given us a good month's pay all round could we have landed them at Billingsgate.Although the mate had not succeeded as well as we, the catch of the two boats aggregated half a ton, not a fish among the lot less than five pounds weight, and one of a hundred and twenty--the yellow-tail aforesaid.As soon as we reached the ship, the boats were run up, sails filled, and away we lumbered again towards New Zealand.
As the great mass of that solitary mountain faded away in the gathering shades of evening, it was impossible to help remembering the sufferings of that afflicted family, confined to those trembling, sulphurous, ash-bestrewn rocks, amid gloom by day, and unnatural glare by night, for all that weary while.And while I admit that there is to some people a charm in being alone with nature, it is altogether another thing when your solitude becomes compulsory, your paradise a prison from which you cannot break away.There are many such nooks scattered about the ocean, where men have hidden themselves away from the busy world, and been forgotten by it; but few of them, I fancy, offer such potentialities of terror as Sunday Island.
We had hardly lost sight of the land, when Polly's capture gave birth to a kid.This event was the most interesting thing that had happened on board for a great while, and the funny little visitor would have run great risk of being completely spoiled had he lived.But, to our universal sorrow, the mother's milk failed --from want of green food, I suppose--and we were obliged to kill the poor little chap to save him from being starved to death.He made a savoury mess for some whose appetite for flesh-meat was stronger than any sentimental considerations.
To an ordinary trader, the distance between the Kermadecs and the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, roughly represents a couple of days'
sail; but to us, who were apparently incapable of hurry under any circumstances, it meant a good week's bludgeoning the protesting waves before the grim outliers of the Three Kings came into view.
Even then, although the distance was a mere bagatelle, it was another two days before we arrived off that magnificent harbour where reposes the oldest township in New Zealand--Russell, where rest the mortal remains of the first really Pakeha Maori, but which, for some unaccountable reason, is still left undeveloped and neglected, visited only by the wandering whalers (in ever-decreasing numbers) and an occasional trim, business-like, and gentlemanly man-o'-war, that, like a Guardsman strolling the West End in mufti, stalks the sea with never an item of her smart rig deviating by a shade from its proper set or sheer.
