FAREWELL.
Louder and louder came the thundering roar from the abyss. The sound
seemed to have risen several tones in pitch, and from this fact I
strengthened my conclusion that the vast cavern was gradually filling.
There was now no way out except that by which Kahikatea had come
in--the ‘way of the spider.’ Should we scale that way, or should we
sit in darkness, with the body of Hinauri between us, and wait while
the rising water surged up through the tunnels and covered us? I
thought the latter grim alternative would be the end; at least I felt
like it as I turned and toiled again up through the tunnels.
The way was dark and I had no light now, but with slow and heavy
footsteps, groping my way with both hands, I at last gained the
Place-of-Many-Chambers. Even there all was dark and silent. I fell
over the arm of the lever on the stone floor, and Kahikatea cried out,
“Who goes there?”
“I, Warnock; strike a light--my matches are wet.”
As I gathered myself up I heard him strike a match on the rock, and,
by its light as he held it up, saw that he was still sitting where I
had left him, holding Hinauri to his breast. He did not speak; his
face was set with grief, and I was moved with a great sympathy towards
him. In the endeavour to show this I went up to him, and, placing my
hand on his arm, looked into his eyes, saying nothing.
He understood. “Thank you, Warnock,” he said softly and sadly; “have
you ever lost someone who was all the world to you--someone whose
going left a dreary darkness, which you wrapped closer about you while
longing for death?”
“Yes,” I replied slowly, “I have.” The match went out. My hand slid
along to his, and they met in a clasp of silent sympathy. He did not
know--I think he never knew--that the one I had lost was the one lying
cold and still upon his breast.
“Stay here, Warnock,” he said presently; “stay here and lighten my
darkness. I have given way beneath this load of grief, and must rouse
myself. Stay here and talk; I will listen, and try to struggle up out
of my black despair.”
“I will,” I said, though it occurred to me that my own feelings were
scarcely such as would lighten anyone’s darkness. “But first give me
the matches, and let’s dispel this outer gloom.”
He handed them to me, and I went in search of a pile of pineheart
torches which I had seen on my first exploration of the place. I
lighted one, and then carried an armful into the open space and set a
light to them. Soon there was a blazing fire, which cast a ruddy glow
on the rocky walls and ceiling of the Place-of-Many-Chambers. Tenderly
Kahikatea disengaged the fair arms from about his neck, and, bearing
the white form into the open space, laid it gently down upon the rocky
floor not far from the fire. Her head rested upon the soft pillow of
her floating hair, and her limbs fell into the beautiful pose of one
who is sleeping sweetly. As I looked down at her peaceful face, and
saw still resting upon it the last smile of joy that had marked her
spirit’s flight, I could scarcely realise that she was dead.
Then Kahikatea and I sat down one on each side of her, but neither of
us spoke; it was a kind of vigil, and I could not break its silence. I
had made the fire, and that was all I could do towards lightening the
darkness of my friend. But I will not say what thoughts came to me in
the presence of the lovely dead. They were strange thoughts of another
world, where, in some inexplicable way, eternal love means eternal
possession of the thing loved, where beings that love the same are one
with their beloved. But these are not thoughts we can explain.
I know not how long we sat there; it was probably a matter of hours,
and we might have sat for other hours had not something aroused me. It
was a vague shadow moving like a tentacle of the darkness about the
opening of the lower tunnel.
“Who’s there?” I shouted sharply, and Kahikatea raised his head
inquiringly.
The answer to my challenge came from a very long way off; it was the
wild and hideous laugh of the wizard. I sprang to my feet and stood
looking into the gloom, where all I could see of him was his eyes,
which caught and reflected the glare of the fire. He was crouching in
the shadows as I advanced towards him.
“Servant of the Vile Brotherhood of Huo,” I said, “you are no longer
free to move; you are----”
But the harsh laugh, sounding again nearer than before, cut my words
short, and I knew the power of the poison had passed. He was again the
powerful agent of evil, a thing to be feared, and, if possible, to be
strangled.
“Come out here!” I said, “and I will fight you on equal terms now that
your infernal poisoned darts are gone. But, first, what are we to
fight about? You have been punished, and Hinauri, the Bright One, is
dead--her body lies there.” I pointed to the open space by the fire
where Kahikatea sat almost unheeding by the side of his lost love.
The negro came out of the dark at my words and stood before me. I saw
his eyes rove quickly over me, and they bore a devilish glint of
triumph as he saw that his reed tube was not in my hand.
“We will fight for the body of the Bright One,” he said, “and when I
have bound you I will bind your friend there. Then”--he concluded by
pointing his skinny finger at the white form of Hinauri.
I ground my teeth, but, before I could spring at him, Kahikatea’s deep
voice arrested me.
“Stop!” he cried, springing to his feet and coming forward with
fingers crooked and brows let down; “it is my privilege to strangle
this black villain, whoever he is.”
In three strides he was upon him, and in another moment the negro was
twisting and twining in a strong grasp from which his soul, if he had
one, might possibly find escape towards hell, but his body never.
Kahikatea had gripped him by the arms. Now he transferred one hand to
the wizard’s throat, and the end began. As I stood by and watched, I
thought it strange that the negro did not use his liberated arm and
hand to clutch at the one which gripped his throat. Instead of doing
that, as they swayed to and fro, he was feeling with it for something
in his hair. His eyes were starting out of his head, but his fingers
were still searching through his hair as Kahikatea shook and strangled
and shook him again.
Presently the fingers drew forth a slender thing--a small, reed-like
dagger, only large enough to give a needle’s prick, but I knew it was
poisoned. With a quick shout of “Take care!” I darted forward just as
the negro was raising his arm. I caught him by the wrist, but, with a
quick side twist, he wrenched loose, scratching my skin with the
cursed thing as he did so. Then, swift as lightning, before I could
intervene, he raised his arm again, and drove the point into
Kahikatea’s shoulder.
A last horror swept through me as I realised that in less than three
seconds we should both be at his mercy by virtue of the swift poison;
and the form lying still in death behind us--great God! should
[image: images/img321.jpg
caption: “KAHIKATEA STOOD LIKE A BRONZE STATUE, WITH ONE ARM STRETCHED
OUT. IN THE HAND OF THAT ARM WAS THE THROAT OF THE WIZARD, WHOSE BODY
HUNG FROM IT, LIMP AND LIFELESS.”]
the body of the Pure One pass into this foul wizard’s hands after all?
In another moment all would be over. I felt my senses going, when I
saw that the negro was trying to speak, but Kahikatea’s hand was still
too tight on his throat. Not until it relaxed under the influence of
the poison could he speak the words which would take command of our
failing wills. Then, when I saw that, a lightning thought flashed
through my mind: the commanding voice should be mine. I was going
fast, but I still had strength enough to cry: “Kahikatea! my voice is
the only thing! You cannot let go! Kill him! Kill him! You cannot let
go!”
The last words seemed to come from everywhere. Myself seemed blotted
out, and my own words sounded like many voices crying as one from
beyond the horizon: “You cannot let go!” Then I know not what
happened. Consciousness fled to this extent--I was conscious of
nothing but a blank.
* * * * *
When I awoke I found myself on the stone floor. I sat up and gazed
about me. The fire was burnt low, and I could see only the form of
Hinauri still lying where it had been. The place was too dark to see
more. I rose hastily, and kicked the remains of the fire together. A
bright blaze sprang up, and I turned towards the spot where I had last
seen the wizard in the grip of my friend. They were still there.
Apparently the fight was not yet finished, for I could see vaguely the
two figures standing together in the gloom. How could this be? The
fire could not have burnt down in less than two hours.
I snatched a piece of smouldering pineheart, fanned it to a blaze,
and, hastening to where they stood, held it up. The thing that I saw
was as grim as it was weird. Kahikatea stood like a bronze statue,
with one arm stretched out. In the hand of that arm was the throat of
the wizard, whose body hung from it, limp and lifeless. Kahikatea’s
face was set, his teeth clenched; the command, “You cannot let go!”
was written on iron in every feature, muscle, and limb; and, with his
eyes fixed on the lifeless thing he held suspended by the throat
before him, he was still strangling that wizard, whose last twisted
hideousness was too frightful to describe.
A pale ghost of a “Thank God!” fell from my lips; then I set about
undoing the voice-and-poison spell.
“Kahikatea!” I said; “my voice is the only thing; you are yourself
again; wake up! you can let go.”
His fingers relaxed, and the wizard corpse fell in a huddled heap upon
the floor. Kahikatea turned to me with a look of amazement on his
face.
“What happened?” he said; “I felt my senses going when I heard you
shout ‘Kill him! you cannot let go!’ and then I seemed to be spending
a long lifetime in strangling him with all my strength.”
As briefly as possible I explained the strange action of the wizard’s
poison and the power of the first will that came into possession by
means of the voice. I had not finished when, at a sound from the
darkness in the direction of the lower tunnel, I suddenly broke off,
and we both faced round to listen. Again the sound came to our ears;
it was the soft splash of water against the rocks. I advanced with the
blazing wood in my finger tips, and saw with dismay that the flood was
rapidly rising in the tunnel. It was already within ten yards of where
we stood, and was encroaching visibly.
I turned to Kahikatea. “Quick!” I cried; “all the outlets are closed,
and the place is filling. Up through the tunnels to the marble cave. I
will follow.”
He turned and tenderly lifted the body of the Bright One in his arms;
then, taking up a fragment of burning wood, he proceeded into the
tunnel which led up into the marble cave. I remained, and dragged the
body of the Vile Thing of Darkness towards the breast-high barrier
upon which the lever had rested as on a fulcrum. Then, raising my
burden above my head, I heaved it into the gulf that yawned on the
other side. Something of the triumphant feelings of Ngaraki, when he
had hurled the Vile Tohunga’s head down to Porawa, came over me as I
listened, fancying that I should hear that wild laugh again echoing
from the depths of Darkness. But there was no reply; the Poisoner had
gone down for ever.
I was aroused by the wash of the water rising on the rocks where I
stood. Even as I sprang forward and caught up another blazing
fragment, the tide surged in and swamped the fire with a quick hiss. I
darted into the tunnel with the waves lapping at my heels, and
followed Kahikatea.
When I reached the marble cave I stood and surveyed the scene before
me with feelings of regret, dismay, and despair. A great slab of stone
had slid down in the grooves that I had noticed on each side of the
opening, and the place was closed even to the moon and stars; but what
called up all my grief afresh was a thing of which I had been
convinced ever since I left the cave to find Hinauri. The marble
statue no longer stood in the centre of the cave with its arms
outstretched. There, on the floor, broken and shattered, were the
fragments of the lovely image which Miriam Grey, as a sculptress, had
hewn out of the sacred stone; and there, a little beyond, lying upon a
soft Maori mat, was the still cold form of the lovely spirit which
she, as a mother, had led out of the distant past.
As I made my way among the fragments, I picked up the golden circlet,
and, bending down, gently placed it upon Hinauri’s brow. At once the
prophecy came to my mind--the prophecy she had read after solemnly
identifying herself with the statue: “_Thou, Hia, shalt return at the
dawn of a new age, but ere the sun shall have shone twice upon this,
thy crown, thou shalt withdraw into the sky._”
Kahikatea was in the recess of the inner cave, holding in his hand the
rope by which he had descended.
“I will go first,” he said; “then I will let the rope down a little so
that you can make a double loop for her, and I will draw her up. After
that I’ll let the rope down again for you. But wrap her in the mat,
Warnock, and fasten the rope securely.”
He began to climb as he gave these directions, but he was scarcely
five feet from the ground when the strands broke far up above and he
fell heavily, the whole of the rope rattling down into the cave about
us.
“Must have frayed on the edge of the rock,” he said, struggling to his
feet. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to do now, my friend, but sit
down here quietly and wait for the end, for the water will be here
presently, and there’s no other outlet. Certainly we might float up,
but for my part I don’t think it’s worth while.”
So weary of life was I that I was tempted to agree with him; but I
chanced to glance round the cave before I spoke, and my eye fell on
the grotesque wooden gods grinning at our hopelessness as they nursed
their stomachs serenely. A sudden idea struck me: why not make a raft
of these wooden deities, and so float up on the rising flood? I
mentioned my idea to Kahikatea, and he greeted it with a half-smile.
Such a slight thing changes the course of mortals, and I believe it
was the mere happiness of this idea that led us to combat what was at
that time a great temptation to leave our bodies with that of the one
we both loved, and go out into the starry sky with Zun to find her.
With a spontaneous movement we sprang up and set to work. I remembered
that in the Place-of-Many-Chambers there was a deep gulf to fill, and
consequently it would be some time before the water reached us.
So we took Tiki, the Progenitor of Mankind, and Tangaroa, the sea god,
and Tawhirimatea, the god of storms, and Tanemahutu, and Rongomatane,
and several others, and, laying them side by side on the floor of the
cave, lashed them together with the rope. There was a store of torches
in this as in all the other centres of the temple, and we set several
going to light us in our work.
At length it was finished, and we laid the dead upon soft mats in the
centre. I also placed on our raft the remainder of the torches, and an
axe I found among the weapons. Then we sat and waited, Kahikatea at
Hinauri’s head and I at her feet, both bearing torches in our hands.
In time the water flooded in with gurgling sounds, and we rose on our
raft of gods up through the opening in the roof of the mountain. When
we had mounted some fifty feet I looked up between the dark crags that
still towered above us and saw the stars in an indigo sky. Slowly we
floated up with our fair burden until, upon a crag above us, we saw
the silver moonlight glistening. In a few minutes we reached that
crag, and found we were on the broad summit of the mountain temple,
the twin peaks rising one on each side of us, their snowy summits
standing up like sentinel spirits as the moonlight touched them in the
clear, cold silence of the sky.
The raft now floated into a small oblong basin, and as the water rose
in this I saw that it would flow out through an aperture beyond. Here,
then, was our highest point. I stepped out on to the roof of the
mountain temple. Kahikatea followed, and together we lifted our raft
of gods with its burden out on to the rough rocks. As we did this the
water escaped at the other end of the oblong basin, and I advanced
with my torch to see what became of it. Beyond the aperture its
surface shone in the moonlight, making a loop like a silver horseshoe;
then it disappeared again into the rock at a spot not very far from
where it issued.
I looked up at the southern peak, and then at Kahikatea, who stood
beside me. “Yes,” he said, interpreting my thought, “there is a large
lake up there. I came across it in my wanderings. It is no doubt the
source of all this water.”
“The crystal lake that stands against the sky,” I said, slowly
repeating Hinauri’s own words; “is there a way to it?” I glanced
towards the raft as I spoke, and my voice was lowered almost to a
whisper.
“Yes, there is a tunnel,” he replied softly. “Come! our raft is now a
bier. Let us carry out her wish.”
So we severed Tiki, the Progenitor of Mankind, and Tanemahutu, the
strong god of light, from the others, and, using them as a bier,
passed up through a narrow but lofty tunnel in the direction of the
Southern peak. After we had ascended some hundreds of feet by a fairly
steep incline, we came out on the margin of a large circular lake held
in by towering crags against the side of the peak. The clear waters
were still and pure, as befitted that high solitude, and in the
crystal depths were reflected the lights of Heaven. We descended to
the shelving, sandy shore, and set our burden down in the shadows.
Then, by mutual understanding, we went back and carried up the rest of
the gods and the pinehearts and the axe. And Kahikatea himself hewed
the gods in pieces to supply the wood for the funeral pyre.
I cannot linger over that last sad scene by the silent lake. I cannot
write of Kahikatea’s last kiss of farewell on those pure maiden lips.
I stood apart, bareheaded beneath the moon and stars, gazing my last
upon the serene white face as, with hands crossed upon her bosom, and
her shrouding hair drawn over
[image: images/img326.jpg
caption: “WITH HANDS CROSSED UPON HER BOSOM, AND HER SHROUDING HAIR
DRAWN OVER HER LIKE THE CURTAINS OF THE NIGHT, HINAURI LAY UPON THE
PYRE.”]
her like the curtains of the night, Hinauri lay upon the pyre. Then
the pinehearts blazed up, the bones of the gods crackled and hissed,
and soon the form of the one we had loved and lost was enveloped in a
clear, glowing pyramid of flame, which burned up to heaven like the
light of a great lamp set in a spot well sheltered from the wind.
* * * * *
I recall but dimly our leaving that crystal lake against the sky, and,
in the grey light of dawn, reaching the Table Land below by ways
difficult and dangerous. Suffice it to say that the ‘way of the
spider’ by which Kahikatea had scaled that mountain was such that no
man who valued his life would attempt it. How we passed in safety is a
matter that I can only account for by the fact that we did not value
our lives at all.
The yellow, rolling plain was deserted when we passed across it, and
none greeted us from the _wharés_ dotted about here and there. We
stopped nowhere until we reached the further end of the Table Land,
and there we turned to gaze for the last time on the mountain wall
that shut out half the eastern sky. It was a grand and solemn tomb of
things forgotten; stupendous, majestic, threatening in its gloom. But
on the snowy peaks above there rested a flush of sunrise--a rosy pink
which touched them with a pure and radiant glory as they stood against
a background of white rifted clouds. Though the giants’ temple, with
beetling brows, frowned darkly at us, it seemed as if the rosy peaks
were showing the sun which path Hinauri, the Daughter of the Dawn, had
taken.
A day’s march brought us to the place below the great cliff in the
hillside, where we had seen the water spout up in a fountain, and
where, subsequently, I had found my hat which had fallen into the
abyss. The channel was dry, and the pool from which it issued had sunk
several feet. I conjectured that if that underground stream could be
followed, the explorer would come up against the great round stone,
stopping the water’s flow somewhere in the bowels of the earth.
Two days’ march brought us to Kahikatea’s hut, where he put a few
papers together, and announced his intention of journeying with me as
far as Wakatu, and thence taking a boat for the north, and finally for
England. When he informed me of this I looked at him inquiringly. He
saw the question in my eyes, and said:
“Friend! my dreams have ended sadly, but the strange madness that drew
me to this solitude was, I know now, full of hidden method. You heard
what she said: ‘Hasten on the world.’ Warnock! if ever a man tried, by
putting his shoulder to the wheel of time, to hasten the dawn of a
brighter age, I am going to try. She told me many things that you did
not hear and that I cannot tell you--things throwing light on the
world’s failure in the past to grasp its opportunities--plans to pave
the way for an inborn greatness of a coming generation. When you think
of me, Warnock, think of me as one who is toiling incessantly with
dull, heavy foundation stones at the bidding of a voice which to him
is the sweetest thing in all the world.”
At Wakatu we found Grey and his wife, and together we helped one
another through the story of Hinauri’s death. The
Man-who-had-forgotten heard it as a thing far off; it touched him like
the sadness of a dream, for eighteen years were struck from his life,
and he remembered neither his own daughter nor the Daughter of the
Dawn. But Miriam’s grief, the grief of such a mother for such a child,
was beyond words. For many weeks after Kahikatea’s departure she
lingered between life and death in Wakatu, and it was not until three
months after the events narrated in the foregoing pages that I told
Grey all I knew about his forgotten years, and sailed with them both
to the Sounds--to the home and the garden where I had first met
Crystal Grey. In due time they went home to claim the property, which,
as I have somewhere stated, had been left to Miriam. I remained behind
to take care of the old place until they returned a year later, when
they refused to let me go.
Here, then, in the rustic retreat beneath the nut-trees, where the
sweet influence of Crystal Grey seems to linger round me, I have spent
the summer days in writing these pages. Now it is finished, and again
I recall the words of my aged friend the chief and tohunga, Te
Makawawa:
“_O Son, the word of our ancient law is death to any who reveals the
secrets that are hidden in the Brow of Ruatapu. The secret of Hinauri,
the Daughter of the Dawn, the mystery of the Vile Tohungas of the Pit,
the traditions of far time preserved in the heart of the great
Rock--all, everything, is a death-blow returning on the head of him
who reveals it. Yet, O Son of the Great Ocean of Kiwa, I, who was once
the guardian priest of the temple of Hia and the hereditary curser of
the Vile Ones of the Abyss of Huo, now show these things to you, for I
am weary of climbing the snows of Ruahine, and long for rest and
Tane’s living waters. The great Tohungas of the Earth have taught me
in my sleep with words like the voice of the wind in the forest trees:
‘O tohunga of the Great Rock, the mystery of Hinauri is not for the
Maori unless thou tell it first to the Sons of the Sea, but know that
if thou tell it thou must die.’ Therefore, Son, I show it to you, for
what though I fear the eye of the fierce Ngaraki, I fear not death.
Friend! perchance, when I have descended by the sacred Pohutukawa
root, you, too, will tire of life and tell this thing to your
brethren; ‘but know that if thou tell it thou must die._’”
I am content that it should be so. Last night I dreamed that I
wandered astray in the forest, and that is an omen that no Maori could
misinterpret. Perchance it is the shadow cast before a welcome event,
in terms of the Maori lore so dear to my heart. And now as I write,
another and more striking omen is vouchsafed me in the same quaint
terms. A ray from the golden sun of the autumn evening slants through
the broken screen of yellowing leaves and falls upon the woodwork of
my rough table placed against the hazel stems. Suddenly a little green
lizard runs from a bundle of papers I have but lately lifted from the
ground and placed on the corner of the table. It reaches the sunlight
and pauses, moving its head strangely in the air. In another moment
its bright little eyes meet mine, and for some seconds it remains
motionless. A cloud comes before the sun, the ray fades, and the
little creature wriggles off the table on to the ground, where I hear
its faint rustle among the leaves. Well I know this is a call to
Reinga, thence to the living waters of Tane, and thence to the bright
Beyond--a summons, clear and sweet, to the Living Waters of Tane,
where mortals fling off their garments of clay, and, plunging deep,
renew their strength. Oh! let it be soon. How often have I longed,
with the great chief who now clings to Life in the Light, to throw my
body headforemost into the jaws of Darkness, that I, with him, may
gain the sparkling stars, and look into her eyes once more!
THE END OF WANAKI’S NARRATIVE.
CONCLUSION.
(_A letter from Aké Aké Rangitane, the son of Ngaraki, to the
Editor._[28])
O Friend of the Maori Race,--These are my last words to you, for
while you remain here among the chills of winter, I go to the land
which laughs beneath the southern sun. My experience of the will of
the Great Tohungas of the Earth teaches me that it will be obeyed
concerning the record of Wanaki. When you have done my bidding and the
book is made, then you will remain at peace. I send to you with this a
letter that has been given to me by the Pakeha Kahikatea. Set it at
the end of Wanaki’s record, but do not write the Pakeha’s other name,
for it may be that he has the spirit of one of the Great Tohungas of
the Earth whose names are _tapu_. When your task is done, fear not
that the fate of Wanaki will overtake you. Now I go, but you remain.
Follow me not with your thoughts. When I see the book that is made the
love of my heart will flow towards you like a mountain stream. There
is no Maori word to tell of “gratitude,” but, O Pakeha, in the Maori
heart there are feelings which cannot be hidden behind a word. My
letter to you is ended. Farewell.
_A letter from Miriam Grey to Sir… Bart.,…
St. James’ Chambers, London._
Dear Kahikatea,--It is with feelings of deep regret that I write to
tell you of the death of our dear friend Wanaki. The circumstances of
his end were very strange. It was a night when a thunderstorm was
brewing, and Wanaki, instead of going to bed, put on his mackintosh
and went out to look at the storm. But it did not break till near
midnight, and then there was only a single vivid flash, followed by a
peal of thunder directly overhead. In the morning, finding our dear
friend’s room unoccupied, we searched the garden and the plantations,
and at length discovered him lying dead on the grass at the foot of
one of the great bluegums. That he had been struck by lightning while
standing with his back to the tree was evident, for the grass where he
had stood was burnt, and his watch chain was fused. But the strange
thing that I have to tell you is this: On the trunk of the tree
against which Wanaki had been standing, the lightning had left a mark
which is evidently a duplicate tracery of the course the electric
fluid took through his body, but at the same time--this is no woman’s
fancy--I recognised it as an exact picture on a small scale of the
principal ways of the ancient temple, from the marble cave to the
foundations. I say again, this is not my fancy, for if anyone could
recognise the diagrammatic representation of the spiral tunnels and
spaces of that ancient place it would surely be myself. Is this
another instance of the strange magic of that terrible priesthood of
the ages, which has now left its sign to show that Wanaki has suffered
the penalty for revealing the secrets of their temple, or is it
capable of a simpler explanation? Is it possible that the lightning
followed some occult line of least resistance through that temple of
the ages--that mysterious epitome of the universe, the human body, and
left the track of its passage burnt in on the tree behind? But I
cannot do more than merely suggest the mystery of this exact
correspondence, for both my husband and myself are heartbroken at the
loss of our dear friend, the story of whose snow-white hair and
gentle, weary face, you already know.
I will not write more now except to add, as ever, that my heart is
with you in your work--with you as constantly as my thoughts are with
her whom we love, and as earnestly as my prayers are with those of all
women who stand in the “Brow of Ruatapu” and raise their arms of
longing to the heaven where greatness waits to be revealed on earth.
Yours sincerely,
MIRIAM GREY.
THE END.
ENDNOTES.
[01] _karakia_] Philosophical and meditative hymns used as
incantations.--Editor.
[02] _pa_] A _pa_ is a fortified village, a stronghold.
[03] _Kahikatea… my friend the Forest Tree_] The Maoris regard the
Kahikatea, or white pine, with much poetical feeling.--Editor.
[04] _rangatira_] Gentleman.
[05] _the green lizard that will summon me to Reinga_] The Maori
believes that when the little green lizard looks at him meaningly it
is a summons for him to depart for the spirit world within three
days.--Editor.
[06] _tiki_] An ornament of jade fashioned in the image of Tiki, the
first man, and worn round the neck.--Editor.
[07] _white-winged taniwhas_] The taniwha of the Maoris is a mythical
monster of the deep. When they first saw the Pakehas’ ships they set
them down as taniwhas.--Editor.
[08] _kohutukutu_] The wild fuchsia--the only deciduous native
tree.--Editor.
[09] _wharekura_] An ancient Temple of Mysteries.--Editor.
[10] _Zun the Terrible_] Wanaki has a note here to the effect that,
although the Maori’s pronunciation of this name was ‘Tunu,’ he prefers
to preserve it in what he avers was its original form, _viz._,
‘Zun.’--Editor.
[11] _matakite_] Clairvoyant.
[12] _tapu_] Sacred.
[13] _its spirit had fled beyond Wai Ora Tane_] The bourne from which
no traveller returns.--Editor.
[14] _matakite_] A seer--a clairvoyant.--Editor.
[15] _mana_] Power, prestige.--Editor.
[16] _kumara_] The kumara is a kind of sweet potato.
[17] _Taranaki glowed… thundering Tongariro_] According to ancient
legend Tongariro and Taranaki, standing together, were rival volcanoes
for the hand of a smaller mountain near by, named Pihanga. They
fought, hurling great rocks at each other, until at last Taranaki
withdrew to the seashore, where he now stands.
[18] _Whaka ariki_] A battle-cry.
[19] _heitiki_] A small image of polished jade, held very sacred.
[20] _waiariki_] A warm spring.
[21] _taepo_] Devil--the hobgoblin of the night.--Editor.
[22] _weka_] The Maori hen--a rare ventriloquist.
[23] _Makutu_] Bewitchment.
[24] _crying_ ‘_Utu! Utu!_’] _Utu_ is payment, compensation for
injury.--Editor.
[25] _marae_] The open space.
[26] _utu_] Payment, compensation--an eye for an eye.
[27] _Upokokohua!_] “Boil your head.” All Maori curses relate to
cooking or giving in cookery, to boiling or being boiled.--Editor.
[28] This letter, with its enclosure from Miriam Grey to Kahikatea,
reached me just as the task of editing this work was
finished.--Editor.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
The Hodder & Stoughton edition (London, n.d.) was consulted for
most of the changes listed below.
Minor spelling variances (_e.g._ lovelight/love-light, nut-trees/nut
trees, etc.), the inconsistent italicization of foreign words, and
redundant footnotes (matakite, utu) have been preserved.
Plain text edition only: note markers are given in [square] brackets.
Alterations to the text:
Convert footnotes to endnotes.
Punctuation: quotation mark pairings/nestings, missing commas, etc.
[Chapter IV]
Change (“_Tanawha_ lives there,” he said, “it is tapu. The Maori) to
_Taniwha_.
[Chapter XII]
“Arrived at a village on the coast line near _Hokitiki_” to
_Hokitika_.
[Chapter XIII]
“An easel and _pallette_ reclined against the hedge” to _palette_.
[Chapter XXI]
“the narrowing gulf could be seen the _giant’s_ window” to _giants’_.
[Chapter XXIII]
“descend the marble steps when his controlled emotions _brake_ loose”
to _broke_.
[Chapter XXV]
“Yet it _semed_ a trifle strange to me that he should not” to
_seemed_.
[End of text]