THE HAUNTED REGION.
If there were not so much to tell before I lay down my pen, I might
describe the feast which Te Makawawa and his chiefs prepared for us
that evening, or give the substance of the wild, poetical songs that
were sung in our honour, and of the speeches that were delivered--all
bristling with allusions to ancient tradition. But the matter, though
interesting, does not concern this history directly. Suffice it to
say, then, that I had, from the first, developed a slightly sceptical
attitude towards the old chief’s story. This was accentuated by the
fact that, after the feast of which I have spoken, one of the songs
sung by a young chief contained a chance allusion to Hinauri, giving
in a few words the skeleton of a popular legend which differed almost
entirely from Te Makawawa’s tradition of the same person. Even if this
discrepancy could be explained by saying that a popular legend is
often fabricated around the central name of some more ancient
tradition, it still remained to deal with the extraordinary parts of
Te Makawawa’s story, which were not easy of belief without some kind
of verification. Therefore I had many a grave doubt.
On the following day, when we took our departure, the aged chief sent
with us a Maori named Tiki, who had been with the party which had
taken the child, fifteen years before, and left her at the hut of the
Man-who-had-forgotten. This Maori was to be my servant, to aid me in
finding Keritahi Kerei, or, as we should pronounce it, Crystal Grey.
He was to obey me in all things, and not to leave me under any
conditions until the child--now, of course, if living, a girl
seventeen or eighteen years of age--was found and brought to Te
Makawawa.
When we three, Kahikatea, Tiki, and myself, were leaving the _pa_, the
old chief gave us a solemn and sad farewell. Sitting at the doorway of
his house, he said: “Depart, O Kahikatea, Dreamer of dreams! Take not
again the ‘way of the spider’ lest you become even as he who has
forgotten his name and the face of his friend. Depart, O seeker of the
child whose mother awaits you, and forget not my words. Go, my
friends, to whom I have shown the secret of the ages. Go! while I
remain here watching the _kohutukutu’s_ yellow leaf that will not
fall, watching the western sun that cannot set.”
So we left the _pa_ of Te Makawawa, our hearts full of the strange
tale we had heard. When we reached the bank of the river we sat down
on a log and looked at one another.
“Do you believe the old chief’s tale?” I asked Kahikatea.
“It accounted for my dream,” he replied; “but, do you know, I have
never been able to decide whether I dreamed that about the stone woman
in the cave, or whether it was an actual experience I went through.
All I can be certain of is, that on the floor of my hut, two years
ago, I awoke from what I took to be a kind of syncope due to failure
of the heart’s action. I went out and shook myself together, and
recalled a hazy memory of those things I related to the old chief. Of
course, I dismissed the matter as a dream, though that pure white
woman’s face I could not, cannot, and do not wish to, dismiss, for I
admit to you candidly that I would risk my life to see it again: it
has a fine meaning. I say I explained it as a dream, but what
perplexed me some time later was, that in my record of the month from
full moon to full moon I discovered a gap of three days. Then another
thing which puzzled me was that I had a great many bruises that I
could not account for, one in particular: a painful sore on my
back--by Jove!”
He started up in an excited manner and threw off his coat. Then in
another moment his shirt followed, and he stood stripped to the waist.
“Look!” he cried, turning his back to me; “just between the shoulder
blades--is there any kind of mark?”
It was my turn to express surprise now, for there, in the spot he had
indicated, was a peculiar tatooed sign--a square in a circle, with a
small cross in the centre.
I described it to him, and when I had finished he turned round and
faced me.
“The sign of forgetting,” he said.
“The ‘sign of forgetting,’” I repeated, and my scepticism suffered a
shock.
“I thought,” he mused slowly, as he proceeded to dress himself again,
“I thought I could not have spent three whole days in that syncope. If
I went to that mountain temple and was branded with this mark, which
made my adventure seem like a dream, why should not they have branded
Grey in such a way--say by rubbing in a different drug--as to make him
forget his own name and the face of his friend?”
“And yet--and yet--” I said with some hesitation, “the whole of Te
Makawawa’s tale is so remarkable that I cannot say I feel justified in
setting out to look for that child without some more certain proof. It
is quite possible the old chief has invented the story of the child so
as to get us out of the way. The search may lead me to the other side
of the world, whereas the Table Land and the mountain are not three
days’ journey from here. I believe most firmly that Miriam Grey is
there if she is living, but I’m inclined to think that, if there was a
child, it died, or was drowned, and that old Te Makawawa invented the
rest of the story to throw us off the track. What do you think? Is not
our best plan to go and spy out the mountain first?”
“It may be so,” he replied meditatively. “Personally my interest is
neither in the child nor in the woman, but in the existence of that
ancient temple of a forgotten race, with its white goddess who rivals
the dawn, gazing out into the sky with a prayer on her face, and her
arms held up to the daybreak of the golden age. It is a grand symbol
and, as I said before, I would risk my life to verify it; for even the
face of that marble woman appeals to me as no woman’s face has ever
done before. I see it in my mind, not as stone, but as that of a
living woman whose eyes are full of a holy light. I will go with you
to the mountain wall, and, notwithstanding the old chief’s warning, I
will search for the ‘way of the spider.’”
“Agreed,” I said, “and I will look for the ‘way of the fish,’ whatever
that may be, and take my chance of the fierce Ngaraki.”
With our minds made up we decided that it would be better not to
inform Tiki of our purpose until, in our route southwards, we came to
a point where we could branch off towards the Table Land. We took this
precaution lest he should find an opportunity of hurrying back in the
night or sending a chance messenger to Te Makawawa telling him of our
purpose, in which case I felt convinced we should be followed by a
band of his warriors. Having questioned Tiki, I found that the way by
which I was to seek the child lay through Karamea, to the west of the
Great Tapu Land. It would be an easy matter then to change our minds
on the journey, and direct our course towards the forbidden region
which we knew must be the place we wanted.
Of our progress on foot towards Karamea little need be said, except
that it was fraught with all the difficulties of the virgin bush.
Kahikatea had a fowling-piece, and I had my rifle, so that we had no
difficulty in procuring wild duck, with here a pig and there a
_pukako_ or a _kakariki_. We gathered our larder up as we went along,
for we found the bush-clad hills and gullies most plentifully stocked.
On the evening of the third day we saw a high range of snow-capped
mountains far away on our left, and questioned Tiki about them.
“That is the Great Tapu Land,” he said, lowering his voice.
After a conversation over the camp fire in our own tongue, we decided
that the time had come to change our course. Accordingly, in the
morning we informed the Maori that the curiosity of the white man was
great: we wished to see this forbidden country. He looked scared at
this; but, when we told him he must accompany us, his legs trembled
under him, and I verily believe that if they had been any use to him
at the moment, he would have fled for his life.
“Taniwha lives there,” he said, “it is tapu. The Maori must not go
there; it is the place of evil spirits.”
“Why is it tapu?” I asked.
He shook his head. “When the _ariki_ make a place tapu it is because
it is dangerous to go there.”
I was determined to see how much he knew, so I continued to question
him.
“How long has it been tapu?” I asked.
“From the times of Wiwa and Wawa, when men had wings,” he replied. “Do
not venture on it, O Pakehas. The _ariki_ who have been there to
appease the evil spirits have come back and told us of the terrible
monsters that inhabit the land, and of the evil spirits that are on
the watch for anyone who sets foot there.”
“What kind of spirits are they?”
“Listen, O Rangatira! Some men of Ngatimamoe once lost their way and
crossed the high level land beneath those peaks, when they came to a
great wall of rock, out of which a stream ran forth into a deep pool.
Here they stood and watched the bubbles coming up, when they saw
something rising out of the depths. It came to the surface and spouted
the water from its mouth. Then they fled, for they knew that only
_taniwha_ rise out of the depths in that way. It was the evil spirit
of the mountain, and they who had seen it were doomed.”
“What happened to them?” I asked.
“They all died before another moon had passed,” he replied
triumphantly.
“And are you afraid because of a silly story like that?” I said, well
knowing the superstitious dread the Maori has of the demon _taniwha_,
even if it only comes in the shape of a small green lizard. But he was
not to be shaken in his belief.
“Ah,” he replied gravely. “I have heard that the Pakeha is afraid of
nothing, because he believes in nothing. But the Maori knows these
things are true: the whole place is bewitched with devils, Pakeha; do
not go near it.”
Kahikatea, who had been sitting on a log cutting tobacco with his bush
knife, now restored the weapon to its sheath on his hip, and remarked,
as he charged his pipe: “The fact of this tremendous tapu being laid
on the whole place shows very clearly that there is a secret to be
kept by those mountains--a secret known only to the tohungas who
imposed the tapu. And these wild tales I imagine to be a piece of
priestcraft to add additional protection to the secret.”
Then, rising and standing over the Maori, he went on in his forcible
way: “Look here, Tiki! We’re going, and you’ll have to come with us.
Te Makawawa, the _ariki_, has been many a time to this Great Tapu to
appease the taniwha; remember that. And his words to you were, ‘Do not
leave the Pakeha Wanaki until the child is found.’ Now, if you run
away in the night while we sleep, I shall tell Te Makawawa, and he
will turn the whole brood of taniwha loose on you, and they will tear
you to pieces, so that the name of Tiki will be forgotten in the
land.”
This idea was too much for the Maori, and he gave in.
“O Kahikatea,” he said, “I will go with you, but remember my word: he
who goes into the Great Tapu returns not--all that returns is a cry
from the dark.”
So the matter ended, and, after a substantial breakfast, we started,
heading towards the east, where the peaks of the great mountain chain
showed against the sky. But it was like dragging a load of stones,
getting Tiki along against that heavy tapu. Whenever he could get me
alone he improved the opportunity by telling me some of his terrible
tales of taniwha, in the hope of getting me to prevail upon Kahikatea
to turn back from the haunted mountain. But, interesting as his tales
were, he only succeeded in making his own hair stand on end, for
though I may be a lover of Maori lore, I cannot lay claim to an
overwhelming fear of the taniwha.
But we found there was some foundation for Tiki’s spouting monster. It
happened in this way. In the afternoon we travelled along the bank of
a mountain stream, that ran down from the Great Tapu beyond. It was a
small body of water in a deep rocky bed. We followed it up for several
hours, and by sunset reached what we took to be its source--a deep
pool, some twenty yards across, at the foot of a tremendous rocky
cliff, on the face of which grew rare ferns, with here and there the
crimson or white rata vine. The quiet overflow of this pool swept down
beneath high banks, whose flowers and ferns were now flushed and
glistening in the sun, which sent a few struggling rays between the
black trunks of some mountain birches. It was a pleasant spot, with a
broad green bank on the one hand, where the afternoon sun had found an
entrance, while, on the other, where the sunlight never reached, a
perfect grotto of rare ferns grew from the crevices of the rocks that
composed the high overhanging bank.
Here upon the broad green sward we built our camp fire and prepared to
stay the night, and it was here that the strange thing happened which
went a long way to confirm Tiki in his ideas of the haunted mountain
and perplexed us not a little. Twilight was deepening over the gloomy
hills, and the silence in which bush travellers hear mysterious noises
grew deeper and deeper as the late-singing birds stopped their songs
one by one to make way for the little owls. We sat upon the bank of
the pool, smoking after our meal and looking idly at the water, when
the Maori’s quick ear caught some unusual sound. He sprang up and
stood stock still, with a scared look upon his face.
“Is it a taniwha coming, Tiki?” I asked, for I could hear nothing.
Presently, however, a distant moaning sound seemed to come out of the
ground.
“The earth is shivering,” said Kahikatea, rising from his sitting
posture.
“It is nothing, Tiki,” I cried; “it’s only Ru, your restless
earthquake-god, turning in his rocky bed. He is rearranging his mat
and his pillow; he’ll soon settle down again.”
But the sound grew nearer and louder, and the bank on which we stood
trembled visibly. Then there was a hollow roar underground, and Tiki,
without waiting to see what came of it, shrieked “Taniwha!” and turned
to fly.
But Kahikatea was too quick for him. His long arm swept out and caught
the Maori by the shoulder. Then, as he wheeled him round and nailed
him to the spot, a great torrent of water burst forth out of the pool,
and rose to a height of ten or fifteen feet in the air, swelling the
stream level with its banks as it swept away. The noise of this
rushing fountain, as it rose and fell into the pool, drowned all
speech, and for some minutes we stood looking at it, too surprised to
speak. I heard a howl of fear from Tiki, as my friend, gripping him by
both arms from behind, made him face it.
“It’s an intermittent spring,” roared Kahikatea presently, above the
tumult.
We watched the column of water springing now several feet higher, and
then sinking lower as its force increased and abated alternately, and
shouted many conjectures between the howls of Tiki. The seething pool
dashed spray in our faces, and we drew back.
In ten minutes or a quarter of an hour a sudden change came over the
springing column of water. It sank gradually back into the pool. The
tumult ceased, and the water fell to its former level. The small
stream then flowed quietly through the bed of its channel, and all was
still again.
Tiki was the first to break the silence.
“The evil spirits have let the flood loose,” he cried. “Did I not say
the place was tapu? O Wanaki, let us go back.”
A profuse perspiration was on the Maori’s forehead, and his knees
shook. I felt sorry for him, and proceeded to explain an elaborate
theory of intermittent springs, helped here and there by a word from
Kahikatea. At length we took the keen edge off his fear, for he
admitted that our _mana_[15] was great, but he would not accept our
explanation. Taniwhas were more in his line, and his attitude seemed
to be based on this principle: Why invent an elaborate hypothesis like
ours when a simple one like his would account for all the facts?
Some little time later, when our astonishment had worn off a little,
and Kahikatea had begun to gather ferns on the other side of the pool,
Tiki took advantage of the opportunity to urge me even more strongly
to turn back and not venture further into the haunted place. But I
assured him that we had no intention of taking his advice, and he
accepted the inevitable, saying again that our _mana_ was great, and
that when we got out of the tapu we would no doubt reward his bravery
by giving him a pair of trousers and a new pipe--indeed, in
consideration of value received, he seemed almost willing to renounce
his religion altogether. By his reassuring remarks I certainly
gathered the impression that if he were only clad in a complete suit
of European clothes no taniwha could touch him. He was no high-class
Maori to talk like that, for, if Te Makawawa had caught him in
trousers, he would have ordered them off, and thrashed him within an
inch of his life for forsaking the ancient glory of his race.
Nothing remarkable happened during the remainder of that night, unless
it was that Kahikatea moaned in his sleep several times, and I caught
the impassioned words, “Hinauri! Hinauri!” A strong feeling of
friendship had sprung up within my heart for this strange man, with
his passionate love of birds and trees, of snow-capped mountains and
deep, wide solitudes; of great symbols and lofty ideals. His very
stone goddess, set with fantastic meaning in the high solitudes of the
everlasting mountains, appealed to me as the strongest part of the
bond that already existed between us. I lay wondering who he was, and
what his past life had been; and, as I wondered, I fell asleep.