NGARAKI THE FIERCE.
When Ngaraki had thrown his torch down into the bottomless pit,
there seemed nothing left but the darkness and the silence. Presently
I heard what I judged to be his footsteps hurrying towards me, and, in
my haste to get out of the way, lest by chance he should touch me, I
trod on a loose stone and fell. I was on my feet again in an instant,
and was edging away from the spot, when the chief’s voice, three paces
away, cried, “Ngha! who comes?”
Feeling secure in the impenetrable darkness, I made no reply, but
proceeded to creep silently away towards the foot of the staircase,
listening intently all the while for the tohunga’s movements. But he
was evidently standing stock still. Presently he repeated his
challenge more fiercely, and, receiving no answer, hurried away
towards the end of the gulf.
I felt somewhat relieved at this, as I felt sure I could find the foot
of the staircase, and so get up the pathway; and, if the worst came to
the worst, try the plunge through the aperture in the mountain wall.
But I found it was no easy matter to find my bearings. I could see the
patch of moonlight some distance up the ground floor of the abyss,
and, facing it, knew that the giant statues were behind me. I
proceeded to feel my way from statue to statue in what I fancied was
the right direction, but I had not gone far in this way when faint
sounds of footsteps around me arrested my attention. I stood still,
and all was silent. A minute passed, and, when I moved on, the fall of
these phantom footsteps on every side again brought me to a sudden
halt. Was this some dreadful nightmare, or was I surrounded and hemmed
in by the minions of Ngaraki? The nervous tension of this would soon
have driven me into raving lunacy. I felt I could not stand it much
longer, and tried to steal away quietly on tiptoe, but the footsteps
followed me and I stopped again.
To put an end to this nightmare I thought the best thing I could do
was to kill someone and make a rush. I took my revolver from my
pocket, but merely went through the motion of shooting men down on
every hand just to relieve my nervous tension. After reflection I did
not dare waste a shot in the darkness, for I might want the whole six
later on, and I had left my ammunition outside the mountain; so I
tried to take things quietly. While in the midst of this, something,
not three paces away, collided with something else. “Kuk, kuk!” said a
throat, and another throat answered with a guttural, purring noise,
followed by a long-drawn sigh. After that there was a silence, in
which I was sorely tempted to shoot in the direction of those sounds.
Presently, however, under a further development of the situation, I
thought it was my wisest course to spend at least one of my six
bullets. Standing under cover of the darkness, but haunted by these
ghostly footsteps, I saw, twenty yards on my right, a dim glow. As
soon as this caught my eye I knew what was going to happen. Somebody
was blowing a piece of smouldering dry punk into a blaze; a torch, or
several torches, would be lighted, and I would be hunted out like a
rat. I was determined that this should not be if I could possibly help
it. I much preferred the dark and the ghostly footsteps. Now the punk
was glowing red, and, just above it, the wizened face of someone
blowing it appeared distinctly. I could not bring myself to the idea
of potting at this man out of the dark; it seemed a little unfair; so,
moving about again, I listened for the footsteps and fired into the
thick of them.
The effect was magical. The report rang up through the abyss and
reverberated with a thousand echoes in the high galleries above. But
this was not the only effect. Immediately following the shot there
arose a guttural, inarticulate howl, and a strange clucking noise
began all around. It suddenly dawned on me that these sounds came from
men who had lost their tongues: these were no doubt the speechless men
Te Makawawa had spoken of. But I did not stop to find out any more
about them. Taking advantage of the general confusion, I felt my way
to the last stone figure in the semicircle, and, with a guess at the
position of the foot of the staircase, struck out to find it.
I could now hear no footsteps about me, and thought that if I could
only get up out of the abyss I should feel happier. After proceeding
some twelve or fifteen paces, I touched a rock and felt my way along
it until I came to a corner. A sigh of relief escaped me at the
discovery that it was the lowest step of the giants’ staircase. I was
just about to mount it when a peculiar guttural “Kuk, kuk!” came like
a challenge out of the darkness five feet away on the left. My first
impulse was to spring towards the sound and get at the throat from
which it proceeded. But suddenly I remembered having heard this sound
answered by a kind of guttural purring. It was evidently the
tongueless challenge equivalent to “Who goes there?” Why should I not
give the answer? On the spur of the moment I did so, making the most
guttural purr I could find in my throat, and following it up with a
long-drawn sigh. It was met with silence. My challenger evidently took
me for a friend who, actuated by a cleverness equal to his own, had
conceived the idea of guarding the only way out of the abyss.
It was with a conceited feeling that I was infinitely cleverer than
all of them that I mounted the step and listened before groping my way
upwards. There was still confusion in the abyss. To judge by the
excited noises I heard, someone had evidently been touched by my
revolver shot. There was no sign of the glowing punk, and I gathered
from this that in the presence of firearms they felt safer in the
darkness. That they stood in fear of another shot was also evident
from the fact that gradually the strange sounds ceased, and all was
quiet.
Presently I heard footsteps hurrying towards me. They were those of
other clever mutes who wished to prevent my escaping that way. I was
the first to give the peculiar challenge, which was answered by a
purring and a ghostly chorus of sighs from several throats. Then,
feeling that I had hoodwinked them, I ventured to creep away as
silently as possible, raising myself from step to step. Several times
I stopped to listen, but all was quiet behind me and I went on and on,
up towards the giants’ window.
It must have been nearly an hour before I gained the approaches to the
huge grating. When I reached it I stood for a moment looking up at the
moon, then, turning, I followed the bright ray through the darkness
until it fell upon the floor of the abyss, a patch of light
considerably less in area than an hour ago. It had travelled nearly
the whole length of the gulf.
While I was looking at it before passing on I heard a chorus of
guttural sounds far down. I started and moved away, as it dawned upon
me that my tell-tale shadow had been seen on that patch of light
below. My cleverness now oozed out at the back of my head and ran down
into my heels. In a very short space of time I knew I should have
those phantom footsteps about me again.
My first idea was to stand in the dark and shoot them down as they
came past the window in the moonlight, but on second thoughts I saw
that I could only dispose of five in this way at the very most, and
there were certainly more than a dozen of them, besides Ngaraki
himself. Everything considered, I thought it the best plan to make for
the lake and try the opening.
Another ten minutes, then, found me nearing the buttress. My eyes were
continually on the moonlit window, for my pursuers must pass there,
and I was anxious to count them as they passed. But it was not until I
reached the rocks of the buttress that I saw the first rush quickly
across the light. Another followed and another, until I counted ten.
It was an uncomfortable number, especially as they knew every inch of
the place and I did not. So well, indeed, did they know their way that
I had scarcely reached the ledge beneath the spar when I heard them
coming round the corner of the buttress. I had my hand on the wooden
sprit above my head when they were almost upon me. That they would
search every nook and corner I knew well, and if I could not reach the
other side of the lake first I should have to fire my remaining shots,
and, plunging in, run the risk of being swept down by the overflow
into the abyss. Why should I not cross by the spar? They would never
think of that.
No sooner had I conceived this plan, which was as good as any other,
than I bore my weight on the sprit, and found that, although there was
a trembling motion, the balance of the spar was maintained. In another
second I had raised myself by the “one-legged-doctor” trick everybody
learns at school, and was lying along it.
Scarcely had I accomplished this when I heard the sound of footsteps
below, and someone touched the end of the sprit, for I felt it tremble
beneath me. At this I grasped the points of the granite to which it
was lashed, and drawing myself along, sat up astride of the thing. I
was now well over the brink of the abyss, and began to feel clever
again as the pattering of footsteps went by behind me. By their
movements to and fro I could hear that they were searching for me, and
I did not dare move further lest I should attract attention. To make
up for the absence of their tongues their ears were preternaturally
acute, and the slightest movement might have betrayed me. Even when
the sound of footsteps ceased I remained motionless for a long time,
fearing that there was someone listening near by in the darkness. If
the cascade had still been pouring down from above I should have stood
a better chance under cover of the sound. Everybody knows the peculiar
effect that listening in the darkness has upon one. The muscles become
rigid, the throat grows dry, an irresistible desire to swallow
produces in the act a peculiar noise, and a strange kind of hypnotism
suggests to the limbs that they cannot move. To this add a cold
perspiration, born of the idea that there is a vast yawning pit
beneath one, and a score of ears listening for the slightest sound
near by, and you have my sensations within a little.
How long I sat there astride of that sprit I do not know, but at
length my feelings became unbearable. I determined to move, but it
cost me all it costs one in a nightmare to make a start. With a harsh,
inward laugh, that sounded almost hysterical in my mental ears, I at
last succeeded in throwing off this strange self-hypnotism, and,
stretching my hands forward, grasped a point of rock on the spar
itself. Once having pulled myself on to the granite I felt more
confidence, and, though the long lever quivered beneath me, I sat
astride and worked my way along. I tried to shut out the terrible
abyss beneath me, but the knowledge that it was there in the darkness
was perhaps worse than if it had been visible to physical eyes. It was
like dangling between life and death. But, as the Maori mystic saying
runs,
“_Cling to Life in the light--cling to Life in the darkness!_” And I
clung.
After what seemed several hours, although most probably it was
something like fifteen minutes as clocks go, I reached the constricted
part of the spar, and felt that it was not much thicker than a man’s
body. As I rested on it for awhile I felt the drip of water from the
roof of the cavern, falling now on my bush hat and now on my
shoulders. I wondered how many thousand years it had taken that
dripping water to wear the granite down to its present shape, and how
many more would elapse before the spar gave way at this point, and the
two fragments, with the great round stone, go hurtling down through
space on to the heads of the Vile Tohungas far below. I feared that I
would get there first.
A glance along the gulf towards the giants’ window showed me that it
must be now midnight, if not more, for the moon was no longer shining
in between the bars, and I could see her light reflected from the face
of the wall beyond the fissure without. I found fresh courage in the
thought that if I could reach the further lip of the basin and take
the plunge, the rays of the moon shining down into the pool on the
western side of the mountain would serve to guide me towards the
opening.
But my fresh courage soon gave out, for no sooner had I climbed from
the narrow part on to a broader surface of the spar, than the horror
of my situation reacted upon me. Faint with what I had gone through
since my last meal in the early morning, I felt the darkness beginning
to move around me. Concentric rings of light were converging to a
point in my brain. I had just sufficient sense to spread myself face
downwards on the rock before I swooned away.
* * * * *
When I awoke to consciousness the faint light of daybreak was
struggling in through the giants’ window. The vast cavern was full of
greater and lesser darknesses, and, as I peered into these, I recalled
the events of the past night. A sickening horror swept through me as I
realised that I had been lying on a narrow bridge above the abyss for
hours, and it was followed by a feeling of thankfulness that I had not
turned in my deep sleep and rolled down into the depths. I felt as if
angels had stood one on each side of me, and sat up, full of the
conviction that I should see the outer world again.
It was strange that I had not been discovered. Evidently my pursuers
had not thought of my hiding place. But in order to get out safely it
would be necessary to make all haste, for no doubt they were still
keeping watch, and the grey, misty light of the far-off day was
growing every minute. Very soon I should make an easy target for
stones, and if Ngaraki could hit the Vile Tohunga’s eyebrow at twenty
yards with his jade _meré_, what could he not do with me? To his way
of looking at things there was no telling what secrets I might carry
away with me if I escaped, therefore the sooner I was wiped off the
face of the rock the better for that ancient temple and all it
contained.
As yet it was impossible to see more than a vague suggestion of one’s
hand before one’s face, but in ten minutes’ time there would be enough
light to shoot by. Crawling along the spar towards the basin, I made
all possible haste. I had not gone far before I heard footsteps
several paces in front of me. I stopped, and all was silent. I could
hear my heart beating, and the ghostly whiffle of the descending
torrent immediately beneath, but no other sound.
It was no time for delay. A plan suggested itself to my mind in a
flash, and I acted on it without a second thought. Drawing a match
from my pocket with my left hand and raising my revolver with my
right, I struck the match on the granite and threw it fizzing into the
darkness before me. The light lasted only a second, but in that brief
space I saw two figures crouching on the spar ahead, fired point blank
at the foremost, and saw him roll over into the abyss. The next
instant something whizzed through the air two inches from my forehead,
turning my hat half round upon my head. I knew that Ngaraki had also
taken advantage of the momentary light to hurl his _meré_. The
involuntary start backwards at this sudden surprise saved my head
again, for, immediately after the missile, came the crashing sound of
a heavy club on the rock a foot before me. This was the work of the
other figure I had seen. Dropping my revolver, I leaned forward and
seized the head of the club with both hands. A struggle ensued, and
each tried to use the club as a means of pushing the other off the
spar. The struggle did not last long. Giving the club a quick twist
from my end, I at the same time pushed it violently against my
antagonist, who made a sound in his throat and fell backwards, still
holding his end of the club. But in doing this I swung and fell
sideways. The next moment we were dangling one on each side of the
spar, with nothing to hold by but the club lying like a cross-bar over
the narrow rock. All this took place in the space of a few seconds,
and it was while I was swaying in the air that I heard from far below
the rattle of Ngaraki’s _meré_ on the floor of the abyss.
Thank Heaven, the mute held on. If he had let go I should have gone
down with him. Never was a man so anxious that his foe should keep his
head.
In moments of danger different people act in widely different ways,
but, in moments of extreme peril, when even fear itself seems
paralysed, most men, I think, would do the right thing automatically.
From what happened I am convinced that the man on the other side of
the rock was doing exactly as I was doing, looking for some point of
rock by which to cling. At all events I felt, by my end of the club,
which I was now holding in one hand, that he was not hanging quietly.
Never were two living beings weighed on a more extraordinary balance
to determine which should be found wanting. One more second determined
it. Failing to find a purchase with one hand, I had grasped the club
with both again and drawn myself up with my chin over the end of it.
Then, to find a good hold on the edge of the spar, I transferred my
right hand while sustaining my weight with my chin and left arm.
Quickly I slid my other hand along the club till it found the rock. It
was done. The club went up as soon as I released it; there was a
guttural exclamation on the other side, and the sound of clawing
fingers on the granite as the man went down into the pit, leaving me
hanging over the side of the spar.
I drew a long breath and proceeded to raise myself. With chin and one
hand supporting my weight again, I reached forward and swept the
surface of the spar with the other. The first thing I felt was my
revolver, but it was little use to me just then. There was a rough
point near it which would help me, but no sooner had I grasped it than
I had to withdraw my hand, for I could just distinguish a shadowy form
coming towards me from the basin end. I could hear him feeling his way
along, and knew that he was looking for me. I would let him pass and
then climb and shoot everything I met on the rest of my journey
towards the basin. With this end in view, I found the revolver again,
and placing it with difficulty in my coat pocket, got my hand back on
the rock and remained hanging till the one who was looking for me had
passed by.
To find the rough point of rock again was easy, but to draw myself up
with nothing to place my knees or feet against was more difficult. At
length I managed to get one foot up on the spar, and then gradually
dragged my weight on to the upper surface. The light had grown
considerably stronger in the last few minutes. I could now see the
grey surface of the rock before me. By the time I had crawled twenty
feet along the widening surface I could discern the vague outline of
the great round stone above the outer lip of the basin, and could hear
the gritting sound it made as it rolled and rocked slightly in its
socket with the motion of the spar, set up principally by the man who
was looking for me at the other end. I needed only a little more light
in order to stand upright and make a rush.
A full minute I waited, straining my eyes before me to see if there
was anyone barring the way. The spar was now quivering violently, and
I knew the one who had passed me was near the further end. Another
minute passed and the motion grew fainter; he was on his way back.
Presently I heard him crawling along on his hands and knees not ten
yards behind me.
Trusting now to the light, I rose and proceeded carefully towards the
round stone. When I reached it I found no one there, but on the lip of
the basin there were several shadows moving. The foremost, evidently
thinking I was the man who had gone along the spar and was now
returning behind me, gave the guttural challenge. There was no time to
waste in purring, so I gave the countersign with my revolver. He
staggered back and disappeared.
Then all was confused. Vague shadows flitted round the rim of the
basin. I pushed one off into the abyss, another I shot as he came at
me, and he fell into the water. A well-aimed stone carried my hat from
my head back into the abyss, cutting the skin of my scalp to the bone
as it passed. I heard feet pattering behind me and ran on round the
lip of the basin. Now I was facing the place where I knew the opening
in the mountain side lay concealed beneath twenty feet of water. I had
two shots left; the one I fired at something I saw moving on my left,
the other I reserved for the one who was running quickly round the lip
of the basin behind me. Turning, I fired at a distance of five yards.
He did not fall, but uttered a fierce “Ngha!” and came on.
With a quick plunge I leapt from the rock and struck out downwards
into the dark with all my strength. Presently I felt the current
rushing through my fingers. Another vigorous stroke would have sent me
into it, but as I drew up my legs something touched my foot. I kicked
back and encountered what felt like solid flesh. I was now head and
shoulders in the current, and could see a round light before me, but
an arm slid along my leg, a hand closed round my ankle, and I was
dragged forcibly out of it again.
I turned in the water to face my antagonist, whom I now knew to be
Ngaraki himself, and, guiding my hands along his chest and shoulders,
caught him by a bronze pillar for all the impression I could make on
the throat. But I might as well have tried to throttle it. The next
thing I knew was that his hand had closed over my own throat with a
grip like iron. He shook me in the water as if I were a mere rat, and
we rose to the surface.
He still retained his terrible grip as he groped along the bank for
the steps in the wall. By the time he had found them my senses were
beginning to go. I could get no breath until he released my throat,
and it was now nearly half a minute since I drew my last. I was
getting confused, but I remember one thing which made a distinct
impression upon me. My hands, in attempting to get at his own throat
again encountered a small stream of something warm trickling from his
chest, and, strange as it may seem, almost my last feeling was one of
remorse that my final bullet had wounded this strange man, for whom,
notwithstanding all his attempts to kill me, I had conceived a kind of
savage admiration. In my dying condition, lying helpless in his grip,
I seemed to lose my own selfish personality; and, in that brief
moment, looking at things from his standpoint, I admitted I was in the
wrong, and found time to wish at least that I had not fired that last
bullet.
We were now on the margin of the lake swaying about. Suddenly a low
moan escaped his lips. His fingers relaxed. He fell back against the
cavern wall. Before he fell, however, he gave me a violent push which
sent me reeling into the lake.
In the second that elapsed before I reached the water I may have taken
in some air. I do not remember doing so, for I was almost gone; but I
think I must have got some oxygen into my lungs, for, to a certain
extent, consciousness revived as I felt myself going down in the
tumultuous depths. Aided considerably by the water welling up from the
bottom I arrested my descent and darted upwards again, but on reaching
the surface and gasping for air, I found myself in a current. Oh!
horror of horrors! I felt I must be going down into the abyss. My
mother’s sweet, sad face rose in the darkness before me, and I called
on God as all men do in their last extremity. For some time--I could
not say how long--I struggled against that current with the strength
of despair, but, wildly as I strained every nerve and sinew, I felt I
was being gradually sucked in. I reached out to catch some point of
rock, but there was nothing. Then with a feeling of blackest horror I
realised all was over. But the horror gave way, and, as I swept down,
I felt myself smiling up at my mother’s face like a child dropping off
to sleep. There was a stunning crash as my head struck against some
rock in the descent, and then I fell down, down for ever and ever into
the black abyss of unconsciousness.