ZUN THE TERRIBLE.
To reconnoitre the position of the two camps I determined to mount
the back of the Lion from the valley side. I ran across the open space
and climbed half-way up the flank of the great rock, but, finding it
was impossible to reach the summit, I selected the tallest pine that
grew on the side of the spur and went up it in all haste. When I
reached the feathery top I found myself above the level of the Lion’s
back, swayed by the wind to and from the topmost ledge. Here I had a
clear view of the plain, where the savages of both camps were drawn up
in two long lines facing each other. The war-dance was over, and the
time had arrived for single warriors of each side to rush out, and,
with wild gestures illustrative of the coming slaughter, to hurl
taunts at the other.
But my attention was directed more particularly to a scene that was
being enacted in the open space of the enclosure on the plateau not
twenty yards from me. Ngaraki, who had evidently been unable to quiet
the savages on the plain, had found his way into the hostile _pa_,
where he now stood confronting a small band of chiefs, who, by their
violent manner and occasional bursts of savage laughter, looked as if
they had been drinking _waipiro_ to rouse their utmost ferocity for
the coming conflict.
The violent chief whom I had seen haranguing them was there, seated
upon the ground, while the others stood behind him. His aspect was one
of treacherous hatred as Ngaraki, calm and careless, yet a savage of
terrible presence, stood before him. Then, before a word was exchanged
the tohunga of the temple burst forth into his message, delivering it
in a half song, half speech, while he paced to and fro with dignified
mien in the open space. He told them that Hinauri had returned, and
that he was her messenger. He told them that her word was peace and
love, that she had sent him to stop the approaching battle, that, if
they fought, they would fight, not for her, but against her. While the
yells of mutual defiance came up from the plain like the manifold
voice of Tu--that god of war who ate his own brothers--Ngaraki’s tones
resounded within the _pa_, impassioned and eloquent. But his words
would find a heart of peace in the rocks themselves sooner than in the
breasts of the savages before him.
He ceased, and the violent, blustering chief, whom he had addressed as
Amukaria, sprang to his feet.
“He says Hinauri has come,” he yelled, brandishing his axe. “Can he
show her to us? No; he says she is white as the mountain lily: then we
don’t want to see her. Hinauri is no _wahine pakeha_; she is Maori
like ourselves. I have seen her spirit: she is no pakeha. She bade me
collect a thousand canoes. I have done so, and they will land at
Wakatu to-night. Curse the pakeha! A pot for his head. This is my word
to him.”
He turned and, rushing towards an effigy of the white man, which stood
at one end of the enclosure, its head already half severed from its
body, he struck a furious blow with his axe. The blow completely
severed the head, which fell and rolled upon the ground. At this a
shout arose from the other chiefs; then Amukaria took the effigy’s
head in his hand, and holding it up cried, “A pot for the pakeha’s
head!”
Ngaraki stood looking on in silence. Would his fierce blood stand this
test? When the chiefs were quiet again he said calmly:
“O Amukaria, your words are wild. Your plans will come to nothing.
Those who were to come in the thousand canoes are on my side. I have
spoken to them and they have listened to my words. They come, but they
leave war and knife behind them.”
A savage yell from Amukaria announced his baffled rage on hearing
this. Maddened by drink and lust of blood, he appeared like a demon,
with tongue protruded in deadly insult. He danced with rage before
Ngaraki, who stood silent, regarding him with his stern black eyes.
Verily the spirit of Zun the Terrible slumbered within him. A smile of
contempt curled his lip, and Amukaria saw it. Unable to contain his
fury any longer he rushed at Ngaraki with axe uplifted, saying, “I
will cleave your head as well, and heat the oven for you.”
The wary chief did not move. He was unarmed, but he had left his outer
robe within the mountain, and his limbs were free. For a moment only
the axe was poised in the air, but that moment was the last of
Ngaraki’s most unnatural forbearance with such a foe. His face
changed. He would have said “Ngha!” but there was not time--so sudden
was his spring. He caught the axe by its handle and wrenched it with a
sudden twist from Amukaria’s hand; then, bounding off a pace, he
whirled it far away beyond the palisades of the _pa_. Before his
antagonist could grasp another weapon he had sprung upon him, and in a
moment they were locked in a terrible struggle, in which I marked down
Amukaria as already a dead man.
But as they rocked and swayed in the open space, one of the watching
chiefs took a long-bladed knife and threw it carelessly upon the
ground a few paces from the combatants. It would have been fair enough
if it had been done openly, but the moment chosen was when Amukaria’s
quick eye alone could notice the act. He had Ngaraki by the hair, but
the _ariki_ had his antagonist by the throat with one hand, and by the
wrist with the other. Fully aware that no man could live many minutes
with his throat in such a hand as his, he was content to keep his grip
and wait. But all the while they were swaying to and fro nearer and
nearer to the knife which he had not seen.
The other chiefs stood by in silence. They saw their leader’s face
grow livid, but they knew that he would get the knife. His eyes were
starting from his head, and his tongue was lolling, still in insult,
from his mouth; but they saw, as I did, that he would reach the knife,
and they did not interfere. I drew my revolver, determined to risk a
shot at twenty yards if a good chance presented, but I held my hand,
thinking that Ngaraki was not the kind of man to need my assistance in
a single combat. I would only fire at the last possible moment; but I
could warn him, and I thought to do so by shouting at the top of my
voice. But my words were lost in the general uproar of savage yells on
the plain, and were unheeded.
Amukaria was near the knife now. His rolling eyes had marked its
position. His fingers slackened from Ngaraki’s hair, and mine sought
the trigger, while I steadied myself. His body drooped as if he were
falling. At that instant, judging by what followed, Ngaraki must have
seen the hand which had held him reach out and grasp the haft of the
knife. A yell of triumph came from the watching chiefs, but it was
quickly silenced. As the knife was grasped firmly in the murderous
hand, Ngaraki suddenly let go his fatal grip; then, as the lolling
tongue was protruding still further in triumphant insult, his knee
came up with a terrific crash against his antagonist’s chin. I heard
Amukaria’s jaws clap together like a trap. It was a death-blow. His
neck was broken. He fell back like a log and lay there with the lower
half of his tongue bitten off by his own teeth.
“Ngha!” said Ngaraki at last, as he picked up his half of the tongue
that had insulted him and tossed it to some dogs that were in the
enclosure. As he did so the chiefs sprang upon him unawares, and after
a prolonged struggle he was overpowered, and was soon lying bound hand
and foot with flaxen thongs. Among these chiefs there was one who
urged the others not to kill Ngaraki, but to bind him to the stake on
which the headless effigy stood, so that when they returned with the
pakehas’ heads they might hold a triumph over him before preparing him
for the oven.
“Now let us hear you call on Hinauri to come and set you free,” said
one of them, when the deed was done. Their tongues were protruded at
him, and they taunted him in a manner that is hard for a Maori chief
to bear. But Ngaraki stood in silent contempt, yet his black eyes
blazed with wrath, and his flesh quivered with the indignity of his
position. He tugged and strained at his bonds, and I saw that if he
could but free himself it would be a bad day for his foes.
At this time the battle broke with a rattle of musketry and a rising
babel of yells on the plain, and the chiefs that were still in the
_pa_ hurried down for the fray. The two lines which had been sending
out single combatants for some time now fused in one mass, the muskets
were cast aside after the first few shots, and the fighting was
carried on hand to hand in the grim savage style. In the midst of the
throng I could see the grey-haired Te Makawawa fighting fiercely. Even
as I singled him out he killed his man, and, whirling his club round
his head, raised the savage war-cry, “_Whaka ariki!_” He and his
warriors were now driving the opposing force back against the
stronghold. As soon as I saw this an inspiration struck me to liberate
Ngaraki, or they would certainly kill him when they were driven back
into the _pa_. In a very few minutes I was down the tree and rushing
round the great rock. The fighting was close upon me as I reached the
path that led up from the plain, and when I gained the narrow strip of
rock in front of the _pa_ I looked back and saw that some of them had
turned and were retreating rapidly up the path by which I had come.
There was no time to lose. I darted in through the opening left
between the palisades and rushed across the open space towards
Ngaraki, who seemed to be trying to tear the flesh off his bones in
his efforts to free himself and get at the foe.
In less than ten seconds, and just as the foremost Maori entered the
_pa_, the thongs were cut. The chief turned his fiery eyes upon me,
said “_He Pakeha!_” and bounded off to strangle the only foe he could
see--the savage who had just entered the _pa_. Stepping quickly aside
from a fierce blow, he seized the unfortunate man by the throat with
both hands, lifted him off his feet and shook him like a rat in the
air, after which he broke his skull against one of the palisades.
Then, picking up the weapon of his foe, a large greenstone _meré_, he
turned to the opening of the _pa_ to meet two who were rushing in.
Both of them continued their rush into Reinga, the abode of spirits,
with a clear understanding that they were to leave the door open, for
more were coming that way.
Ngaraki now stood in the opening and fought grimly against the savages
that Te Makawawa and his warriors were driving in. To help him I shot
one here and there as occasion demanded, and at last he stood on the
narrow strip of rock--an object that struck terror to the hearts of
his enemies, for they only faced him as they were compelled by the
fierce onslaught of Te Makawawa and his warriors behind. For the most
part they were demoralised, and were pushed headlong into the fissure
by the press of the throng. Some of the bolder chiefs rushed yelling
on to the narrow way, but Ngaraki’s terrible club whirled and flashed
like green lightning all about him, and they went down. At last one
brave fellow sprang forward and closed with Ngaraki, and I had to hold
the narrow way myself; but not for long, for, before I had emptied my
revolver, I saw bare legs whirling in the air near by, and in another
moment a Maori was hurled into the fissure. It was not Ngaraki, for
that fierce _ariki_ was again standing on the rock--a majestic figure,
dealing death. In the side-glance that I caught of his flashing eyes
and commanding front, I understood what it meant to a Maori to have
the blood of the Great River of Heaven running in his veins. Verily
the spirit of Zun the Terrible was awake within him.
In the midst of this I saw moving round to the left at the base of the
Lion Rock a large band of savages who had not retreated up the path to
the _pa_, but were evidently bent on some other object. They were led
by a tall fierce fellow, and I thought I saw the negro wizard darting
to and fro among them. Could they be heading for the opening of the
mountain? I fired at a foe who seemed one too many on the narrow strip
and looked again. The leader pointed his club towards the mountain,
and with a yell pressed forward. At the same instant a rifle shot
echoed from high up in the mountain wall, and the savage fell forward
on his face. Thank Heaven! Kahikatea was on the alert, but if that
band got into the mountain, what could two men and two women do
against them? It was with a sickening sensation that I had remembered
I had descended by the rope and left it there. Would anyone think to
draw it up? Again, I shuddered as I reflected that in all probability
the negro wizard had been into the mountain while we were in the
marble cave. Could it have been he that tried to hold the rope when I
pulled it up?
Filled with apprehension, I noted with one eye that Ngaraki and Te
Makawawa’s warriors were nearly through their terrible work, and with
the other that the band heading round the Lion Rock were in some
confusion and hesitation. There was yet time to gain the mountain
before the negro wizard could urge them into the precincts of what
many of them regarded as the stronghold of the _taniwha_.
I knew that in every _pa_ there must be a way of escape by the back,
but, failing to find it, I made for the back of the Lion, and
presently stood on the steep rock near the top of the pine from which
I had watched the curtailing of Amukaria’s offending tongue. The
tree-top was six feet from me, and a glance to right and left showed
me there was no other way down. Every moment was precious if I were to
have a hand in guarding the woman I loved from that most subtle tool
of the Vile Ones--the Poisoner. Gathering myself together, I sprang as
the tree-top swayed towards me, and, passing through the feathery pine
foliage, found myself clasping the slender top of the stem with arms
and legs. For the moment I thought it would break, and there would be
an end, but it held good, and I made my way rapidly down the trunk,
bruising and scratching myself in my haste. Once on the ground, I sped
across the mouth of the valley as fast as my legs would carry me, but
I had scarcely gained the bank of the channel when I was overtaken by
a Maori running at full speed, with a musket in each hand and a kitful
of something heavy round his neck. At first I thought he was an enemy,
and I prepared to meet him as such, but when we came face to face on
the bank I found to my surprise that it was Tiki.
“That _Taepo_ is coming to take ‘the little maiden,’” he said
fiercely. “Here, Wanaki--lead the way.” He handed me one of the
muskets and motioned me to proceed. In a very short space of time we
were standing inside the opening, and then Tiki disburdened himself of
the kit which I found contained a goodly supply of cartridges.
While I was filling my coat pockets I heard footsteps coming down the
rock from the ledge above, and soon afterwards Kahikatea strode
forward into the light, with the sword of the early explorer between
his teeth and Grey’s rifle in his hand.
“Are they coming?” he asked coolly.
“Yes, fifty or sixty of them,” I said. “Where is she?”
“Waiting on the ledge above. But I don’t know where Grey and his wife
are. I don’t think they know anything about this.”
[image: img281.jpg
caption: “THE SECOND MAORI THAT ENTERED WITH AXE UPRAISED HAD HIS HEAD
CUT CLEAN OFF BY THE FIRST SWEEPING BACK STROKE.”]
I looked up through the darkness, and saw the vague, white form of
Hinauri standing on the ledge above.
“We can do better up there,” I said; “we can see without being
seen--come!”
“All right, you go first.”
Feeling it was foolish to waste time I complied, and made my way up
the rock, thinking Kahikatea was close on my heels. But he made Tiki
follow me with the kit of cartridges, and before he himself set his
foot in the first niche there was a chorus of yells immediately
without.
In the dim light I darted on to the rim of the basin just in time to
see the first savage fall to Kahikatea’s rifle. Then, as they crowded
in with wild yells that echoed strangely in the great cavern, I saw my
giant friend, who now stood before the opening, throw his rifle aside
and set to work with the sword. The second Maori that entered with axe
upraised had his head cut clean off by the first sweeping back stroke:
it rolled on the ground at Kahikatea’s feet. The third was run through
the body, and the fourth I picked off to give Kahikatea a chance to
settle down to it. Then it grew grim as death, for they crowded in two
and three at a time; but Tiki had now got to work also, and, between
the three of us, we kept them at bay until there was a ghastly pile
before Kahikatea. But they crowded in, urged on from behind, and
Kahikatea was beginning to let out with his left hand, in addition to
doing fiercely with his right. It was getting serious now, for I
foresaw that if anyone got past him into the shadows he would be
struck down from behind. I shouted as much to him, and he answered as
his sword swished through the air: “All right! as soon as one gets
past I’ll come up.”
In less than half a minute, at a moment when Tiki and I both killed
the same man, two of them did get past, and Kahikatea, true to his
word, drew back and ascended the rock. I had reserved my revolver for
this, and until he was out of their reach, four out of six Maoris
failed to follow him. Then they flocked in over the fallen bodies, and
I began to fear that if once they found the way up the wall and gained
a footing, we should have to beat a retreat. Even now I heard them
climbing the rock, but Kahikatea was on the ledge with his sword, and
the foremost fell with a thud on to the floor below. Tiki and I still
directed our attention to the opening, as those already inside were
mostly in the darkness. Presently I heard sounds as of men climbing on
their fellows’ backs to mount the wall near me, and realised that very
soon it would be a hand to hand fight in the dark on narrow and
slippery places.
While destroying several of these formations by mere guess work, I was
suddenly startled by a light on the other side of the lake. I turned
my head and saw Hinauri walking round the margin bearing a torch in
each hand. From time to time I glanced at her and wondered greatly
what she was about to do. Presently I saw her leave one torch on the
ledge below and hurriedly ascend the rocks of the buttress, beyond the
abyss, which led up to the point high on the cavern wall where the
tapering spar reached towards the overhanging crags. She had now
nearly gained the narrow standing place from which I had seen Ngaraki
leap out to catch the sprit of the spar. Surely she was not going to
take that awful leap! In a flash I saw her purpose and cursed myself
that I had not forestalled her. I stood on the rim of the basin, and
with a hoarse cry called to her, but she did not heed. She had placed
her remaining torch upright in a crevice of the rock, and now stood
erect in the narrow niche high up on the cavern wall--a frail, white
figure outlined against the darkness by the light of the torch. I held
my breath, rooted to the spot. There came the quick panting of the
Maoris below as they struggled to gain the level on which we stood;
there came the steady swish of Kahikatea’s sword, and I felt that I
should be doing my part in that grim defence; there came, too, a cry
of “Ngha!” outside the opening, and I knew that Ngaraki the Terrible
was splitting skulls outside. But all these things seemed like the
points of an instantaneous dream, the one reality being that the woman
I loved was about to take that daring leap above the abyss.
While I watched she crouched for the spring, and my heart stood still.
I recalled the prophecy engraven on the golden circlet, and a choking
horror entered my soul as she sprang out above the abysmal gulf. My
head grew dizzy and my sight blurred. For the moment I reeled and
clutched at the air, but steadied myself and looked again. The long
spar, a dark heavy mass, was moving slowly downwards through space.
The rock beneath my feet trembled as, with a mighty roar, the sluice
gates were opened, and the water, now released by the action of the
lever, gushed through the opening in the basin below. At that moment,
and while the dim daylight from the opening served, I glanced round me
at a sharp cry of “Wanaki!” and saw the last of my faithful Tiki. A
Maori had just gained the ledge. His club was descending on my head
when Tiki, who must have sprung through the air to do it, jerked him
back by the neck. The club whizzed down past my face, and both of
them, friend and foe, fell back into the sweeping torrent as the
daylight from the opening was flooded out. Tiki the Maori had given
his life for me, but his end was peace, with his hand on his enemy’s
throat.
There was wild confusion in the darkness then. From the savages came
gurgling cries of dismay as they were carried away by the sudden
flood. But the swift happenings of that moment, when the rushing water
gave us the victory, came to me through the back of my head, for my
eyes were again fixed on the moving spar, whose track through space
was lighted by the two torches, one above and the other below. The
white form clinging to the end of the sprit swept down out of the
intervening gloom into the light of the torch left burning on the
margin of the abyss. Quick feet found the level rock, and Hinauri
sprang aside. The great round stone rolled into its groove above the
basin’s rim with more than its wonted impetus, for the end of the spar
in its unchecked downward career ground violently against the rock
where Hinauri stood. Sparks flew from that end as the round stone,
looming near me against the light, rose on the outer lip of the groove
and remained in momentary balance. But the long arm of the lever
snapped at its thinnest part. The stone hesitated no longer. It rolled
from its poise and overbalanced. Then those three colossal
fragments--the two parts of the broken spar and the great round
stone--fell down, down into the darkness, while the white figure
beyond the abyss bent over the brink and listened. A dull, crashing
sound of thunder came up from the depths and reverberated through the
whole gloomy place, echoing from the stupendous crags overhead and
rolling away into the vast reaches of the cavern. The false image of
the woman, with the heavy stone which oppressed it, had at last been
hurled down, and now lay among the ruins of old-world things on the
granite floor of the earth.