It was decided to camp on the border of the lake between the village of
Ohinemutu, where the old historic _pah_, with its grim carven giants
of the Wharepuni, looks frowningly down upon the little Roman Catholic
chapel. Clouds of steam arose in all directions above them, while the
scattered pools exhibited the pervading warmth combined with sulphur
fumes.
"We are now on historic ground," said Warwick; "for, without counting
Hinemoa--there is her island--all manner of legends abound; some of
them horrible enough in all conscience, ghastly to a degree," he
continued, gazing across the lake. "Mokoia looks peaceful enough now,
with scarcely a hundred people on it all told. Yet what tales those
rocks could tell! The island was a grand resort for the tribe in
the days before gunpowder. In war-time they could paddle over from
this side, and defy any enemy that had arrived on foot. There was no
waterway to Rotorua. However, Hongi-ika-kai-tangata taught them a
lesson."
"What was that?"
"When the tribe retired there, as usual, they did not reckon on an
unexpected move of the fiercest and most crafty chief of his day, and
that is saying a good deal if all tales be true."
"How did he get over without boats; for I take it they didn't leave any
canoes on the hither side?"
"Of course not. But he had plenty of man-power; so, after sacking the
Arawa stronghold (in 1823) on the east coast, he dragged his fleet of
canoes across by a road which he made to Lake Rotoiti, and, entering
Rotorua, appeared with his fleet before the astonished lake tribes. He
made straight for Mokoia, fell upon them with his customary ferocity,
and, carrying all before him, put to death all who escaped the first
assault. Of the whole seven hundred of the Arawa, not one is said to
have escaped."
"What a tragedy! But, of course, such stratagems belonged to the
accepted method of warfare of the period?"
"Yes," assented Warwick. "Almost where we stand now a chief's widow
killed in cold blood (with the tribe and the mission school children
looking on) a woman taken in war, as an offering to the memory of her
husband. The missionary in vain attempted to prevent the sacrifice,
the poor victim appealing piteously to some relative to help her. But
the good man only endangered his own life, and did not succeed in
saving hers. At Matamata, Te Waharoa's great fortress, when he was
besieged by the Ngapuhi under Tareha, he made an unexpected sortie,
and, capturing several prisoners, _crucified them_ on the tall posts of
the _pah_--just like those you see there--in the very sight of their
friends, who retired in confusion. But I see Erena coming this way, so
I must stop these bloodcurdling stories; she has a strong dislike to
them."
While their appointed camp was being made ready, they were taken by
Warwick to the site of the Lost Village, the scene of the extinction of
a _hapu_ of the tribe as sudden and complete as the destruction of that
of Te Heu Heu.
They stood on a point of land running into the lake. It was floored
with masses of pumice-stone, which the waves had worn into strange
and fantastic shapes. Here had been the encampment. The sites of
the dwellings, by no means unsubstantial, were marked by walls, of
which the lower stones only remained. The apertures showed where the
entrances had been. On one fatal night the whole promontory sank
downwards, drowning the sleepers, and submerging for ever the homes
where generations had lived and died.
Arrived at the camp, all things wore a most cheerful aspect. The chief,
according to Maori custom with distinguished visitors, had sent down
cooked food, mats, and other gifts, intimating through a messenger that
he would be pleased to receive a visit from the pakeha rangatira at his
convenience on the morrow.
Erena arranged to abide with her friends or relations until the morrow.
The humbler natives asked leave of Warwick to bestow themselves in the
village, while the sullen Ngarara, who had of late remained among the
rank and file, announced his intention of coming for his pay in the
morning, and terminating his engagement there and then.
Warwick displayed no surprise at this announcement, but told him that
he might have his pay at once. This offer he accepted, and departed
with ill-concealed satisfaction.
"I am not sorry to get clear of him," he said; "he is a dangerous
brute, and for some reason has taken a dislike to both of us. I can see
it in his face. I had a hint, too, from one of the women not to trust
him."
"What earthly reason can he have? He has been treated fairly all the
way."
"It's hard to say. Maoris are like other people, good and bad. I hope
there will be no war-scare till we get to Auckland, at any rate. He
might take the occasion to do you a bad turn; so it will be well to be
on your guard."
"Perhaps he will get as good as he brings," said Massinger, with the
careless confidence of youth. "I shall keep my powder dry, at any rate."
It was late before the two men separated for the night. Warwick was led
into legendary lore, of which he had a prodigious quantity. He told so
many tales of battle, murder, and sudden death, that the Englishman
dreamed of cannibal feasts, sieges, and pitched battles, with all
manner of disquieting incidents, so that the sun had risen when he
awakened after a broken night's rest.
His attendants were already in waiting, and before he had finished
breakfast Erena arrived, looking fresh and animated. She had made some
slight alteration in her dress, and had placed some of the beautiful
feathers of the _huia_ in her hair. Altogether, there was a change in
her mien, a sparkle in her expressive eyes, a lightness in her step, an
added tone of cheerfulness, which Massinger could hardly account for.
He could not avoid remarking upon it. "You are surely not pleased at
our parting, Erena?" he said. "Warwick and I must start for Auckland
almost at once."
"So soon?" she said. "I hoped you might find something to interest
you here for a few days. There's nothing so beautiful as Te Terata or
Rotomahana; still, there are strange things here too."
"It must all depend upon our news of the war. It would be unwise to
linger here after real fighting has commenced."
"I would not have you do it for the world," said she. "But I have a
reason for not wishing you to return before Monday which I cannot tell
you now. You will trust me, will you not?"
The girl's deep eyes seemed to glow with unusual lustre as she made
this appeal, stretching forth her hands pleadingly, while her lip
quivered as she looked at him with a wistful expression he had never
noticed before.
"I dare say you know best," he said; "and after all your kindness
I could not refuse you anything. But really this life is too
pleasant--too much in the way of holiday-making. I must begin to do
some of the work for which I came so far."
"You need not fret yourself over that part of it," she said. "You will
have plenty of time to do all that is necessary. Many Englishmen come
out to buy land, but they all wish they had waited before investing
their money."
"You only tell me what my friends said in Auckland," he answered. "I am
sure your advice is good. And now for our friend the Ariki of the lake
tribes."
Being joined by Warwick, they walked forward to the spot where the
chief had located himself. He was surrounded by the elders of the
tribe, as well as by a considerable body of natives, among whom
Massinger noticed the ill-omened countenance of Ngarara.
"That fellow has been talking to the natives," said Warwick, "and
whatever he has said, it is against us; I can see by the chief's face.
I am glad that Erena is with us; she has great weight with the tribe."
The chief received them with a show of civility, but was evidently on
his guard, as having had his suspicions aroused. He was anxious to know
for what reason Massinger had travelled to Taupo and Rotorua after
having come so far over the great sea.
"The pakeha is fond of strange sights. He has never seen anything like
Te Terata before, and was most anxious to visit Rotorua, of which he
had heard much; also to pay his respects to the chief Hika-iro, of whom
he was told before he left Auckland."
"A word has been brought to me that the pakeha has come to see the _nga
iwi_ (the tribes), and to bring back to the man who rides at the head
of the soldiers and to the Mata Kawana the names of the men that can be
found for war in Rotorua."
"All untrue. This pakeha dislikes war, and only fights when men insult
him. He desires to return to Auckland now that he has seen Te Terata,
where he will buy land from the Maoris--perhaps set up a _whare-koko_."
"The pakeha's words are good, but who will say that they are straight?
He may return to Waitemata, and tell the man who rides in front of the
soldiers with red clothes that the _pah_ at Rotorua is old and has
rotten timbers, so that it would be easy for the men with red coats and
the men with blue ones to take it. Why is the daughter of Mannering
among the women who are bearing burdens for the pakeha? Will she follow
him, and plant kumeras in his fields?"
"She will speak for herself," said Erena, stepping forward with
flashing eyes and scornful mien. "If my father were here he would teach
that evil-minded man"--pointing to Ngarara--"to speak with respect
of his daughter. What can he say? Have I not a right to walk in the
same company as this pakeha, or any other? Is not the daughter of a
war-chief free to choose her friends? Has not that always been the law
and the custom of the Arawa?"
Here there was a murmur of assent among the spectators, particularly
from the side where the women of the tribe were assembled, while
contemptuous looks were directed at Ngarara, who stood with lowering
countenance, unable to face the withering scorn with which the
indignant maiden regarded him.
Here Warwick took up the argument, not unreasonably considering that
the just anger of the girl might carry her beyond the limits of
prudence, as she stood, with burning eyes and heaving bosom, ready
to invoke the wrath of the gods upon the head of the traitor who had
dared to misinterpret her motives. He pointed out that she had joined
the party with the express sanction of the great chief of the Ngapuhi,
whose written authority and safe conduct she held; that the other
natives, male and female, had been hired for the expedition on liberal
terms; that they had been already paid in part (here he pointed to
certain articles of apparel and ornament which they had lost no time in
purchasing in Ohinemutu); that Ngarara, also, who had proved ungrateful
and mischievous--"slave-like" and "a liar" were the Maori terms--had
benefited by the pakeha's liberality: he had been paid in full. Here
he named the sum, and pointed to a new hat, which the disloyal one
had incautiously bought for himself. Upon him the eyes of the whole
assembly were at once turned, and his countenance changed as a murmur
of disapproval arose. Finally, the pakeha had assured him that he would
send his friends from beyond the sea to see the wonders of Te Terata
and Rotorua; they would bring trade and spend money like water for the
benefit of the Arawa and the Ngapuhi.
Having thus spoken, using no mean quality of the oratorical power which
is a natural gift of the Maori race, he produced Waka Nene's passport.
This the chief (fortunately one of those who, like that veteran, had
been taught to read and write by the early missionaries) perused with
attention, while the whole tribe gazed with awe and reverence at the
mysterious paper--the written word; the magic scroll! How often the
herald of fate!
In this case, however, a triumphant success followed the perusal of the
few lines in the handwriting, and signed with the name, of the great
chief of the Ngapuhi, who, with more than a thousand warriors at his
back, had formerly raided the Waikato and the Ngatimaru, carrying war
and devastation through the length of the land.
"It is enough," he said, handing back the paper to Warwick. "The pakeha
is a great rangatira. He is the friend of Waka Nene, who sent Erena to
show him the great fountain and the hot breath of Ruapehu; he is now
the friend of Hika-iro and all the lake tribes. As for you"--turning to
Ngarara--"you are a bad man, a _kuri_, a _tutæ_. Go!"
The discomfited Ngarara slunk away, pursued by groans and hisses from
the converted crowd, who, as is usual in such cases, were more vehement
in their anger in proportion to the feeling of distrust which had
marked their first impressions.
Peace having been restored, and the enemy routed with loss and
dishonour, there remained no reason why Massinger should not devote the
few days that remained to the exploration of this fascinating province
of the wonderland. Rarely did the weather in that portion of the island
remain steadfast to "set fair" for so many successive days as in this
halcyon time.
Whether it was the excitement of the coming strife, which he could see
by the manner of Warwick and Erena that they expected, the physical
exhilaration produced by the medicated atmosphere, the association
with the half-savage race, who now seemed ready to bow down before him
almost with adoration,--one of these causes, or the whole combined,
certainly found him in a condition of spiritual exaltation such as he
had never before experienced, and in vain essayed to comprehend.
"After all," he told himself, "it will be my last holiday for months,
possibly for years. I shall never, perhaps, have such another ideal
wandering through a 'londe of faerye,' certainly never again have 'so
fair a spirit to be my minister.' A region of marvels and magic, a
tribe of simple children of nature, ready to do my bidding! In this
life of ours, so sad and mysterious at times, such conditions cannot
last; why, then, should not one frankly accept a fragment of Arcadia?"
He lost no time in communicating his change of plan to Erena, whose
features wore so radiant a smile at the announcement that he saw in it
the fullest confirmation of the wisdom of his decision.
"I am so glad," she said, "that you are going to honour _my_ country,
_my_ tribe, by your last visit among them. I was born here, have swum
and paddled in the lake since I could walk; and though my father
changed our abode to Hokianga, and dwelt there latterly, I have always
loved Rotorua best in my heart."
For the next few days they roamed over the lakes and woods, the hills
and dales, of this enchanted ground in unfettered companionship and
joyous converse. They went in a canoe to Hinemoa's Isle, rowed by two
Maori girls, and beheld the bath which bears her name to this day. They
saw the beach on which stood the doomed Arawas, confident in the power
of their hitherto inviolate wave. Here had they fallen; here had the
cannibal feast, with all its horrid accompaniments, been held; here,
where the grass grew thick and wild flowers waved to the very margin of
the peaceful lake, had assailants and defenders waded in blood amid the
dead and the dying.
And yet now how calm, how peaceful, was the historic water, how
tranquil were all things, how happily flowed on the village life!
Who could have believed that such horrors were transacted in this
fairy isle, where now the voices of children at play, the crooning,
low-voiced song of the girls, as they plaited the flax mats or made
with deft fingers the neat provision-baskets, were the only sounds that
met the ear?
Together they climbed the rocky summit of the island, and viewed the
strangely compounded landscape, heard the dire sounds as of groans
and murmurings of imprisoned fire-spirits, while from time to time an
impatient geyser in the haunted valley of Whakarewarewa would fling
itself in cloud and steam heavenwards with wildest fury.
Together they stood before the curious stone image, sacred under
penalty of awful doom in the minds of the simple people, as having
been brought in an ancestral canoe from the half-mythical Hawaiki in
the dim traditionary exodus of the race. Together they forced their
canoes up the glittering channel of Hamurama, and held their hands in
the ice-cold fountain at its source, where it flows bubbling out of the
breast of the fern-clad hill.
The moon was slowly rising over the dark range of Matawhaura as they
left the further shore to return to Ohinemutu. The air was delicious,
the lake a mirrored water-plain, across which the moonbeams showed
silver-gleaming pathways, as if leading to other happy isles. The
paddles of the Maori girls dipped softly into the placid water as the
canoe stole silently across the lake's broad bosom.
"On such a night as this," said Massinger, "it would be most
appropriate for you to tell, and for me to listen to, the legend of
Hinemoa."
"It is a silly tale at best," answered Erena, with a tone half of
sadness, half of playfulness, in her voice--"a tale of woman's love and
man's fidelity. They had better fortune in those old days."
"And, of course, nowadays," said Massinger, "there can be almost no
love and less fidelity."
"The pakeha is wrong," said one of the girls, as they rested on their
paddles, evidently anxious not to miss Erena's version of the legend
(like that of Antar among the Arabs), ever new and deepening in
interest with every generation--"the pakeha is wrong; girls' love is
just the same as ever it was. It is always fresh, like the foliage of
the _pohutu kawa_, with its beautiful red flowers. It does not fade and
fall off, like the leaves of the trees the pakeha brought to the land."
"Hush, Torea!" said Erena; "you must not talk so to this pakeha. He is
a great rangatira. And besides, you cannot know."
"Do I not?" answered the forest maiden. "If he is a rangatira, he will
know too. But are you going to tell us the _Taihia_?"
"To stop your mouth, perhaps I had better; so I will begin. You must
know that there was a young chief called Tutanekai, who resided with
his family on this island of Mokoia. He was handsome and brave, but
because of certain circumstances, and being a younger son, he was
neither of high rank nor consideration in his tribe. He was, however,
gifted in various ways, which made the young women of the tribe look
favourably upon him. He was fond of music. On account of this, he and
his friend Tiki constructed a stage or balcony on the slope of the
hill there, which he called Kaiweka. There they used to sit in the
evenings, while Tutanekai played on a trumpet and his friend upon a
flute, the soft notes of which were wafted across the lake to the
village of O-whata, where dwelt Hinemoa.
"Now, Hinemoa was the most beautiful maiden in the tribe, and her
reputation had travelled far. All the young men had paid court to
her, but could get no mark or sign of favour. Among her admirers was
Tutanekai, but he was not certain of his feelings being returned, and
had not dared to pay her attention openly. So he used, lover-like, to
breathe his woes into his melodious instrument; and night after night,
as he and his friend sat on their balcony, the tender melancholy notes
of the lover's trumpet floated over the lake, and were audible amid the
sighs of the evening breeze and the plashing of the waves on the shore.
"After many moons, and when the summer was advanced, he found means
to send a message to her by a woman of her _hapu_, to whom Hinemoa
answered, 'Have we both, then, had such thoughts of each other?' And
from that time she began to think daily of the love which had sprung up
in her heart for Tutanekai, and to wander about by herself, and refuse
food and company, after the manner of lovesick maidens. All her friends
and relations began to say, 'What has happened to Hinemoa--she who was
formerly so gay?' They also noticed that Tutanekai shunned the company
of the young men, save only of his heart's brother, Tiki. Her feelings
at length became so uncontrollable, that if there had been a canoe she
would have paddled over to the point where her lover's trumpet, like
the voice of the sea Atua which none may disobey and live, seemed
to draw her very heartstrings towards his abode on Mokoia. But her
friends, thinking of this, had secured all the canoes.
"So it happened that on one warm night, when the moon was nearly full,
she resolved in her heart what to do. She tied together six empty
gourds to float around her, lest she might become faint before she
reached the island, and softly slid into the lake near this very point,
Wai-rerekai, which we are now approaching, and as often as she felt
tired she floated with the help of the gourds. At last, when nearly
exhausted, she reached the rock near the warm spring, which is still
known by her name. Here she bathed and rested, also warmed herself, as
she was trembling all over, partly from cold, and partly at the thought
of meeting Tutanekai.
"While the maiden was thus warming herself in the hot spring, Tutanekai
felt thirsty, and sent a slave to bring him water. So this slave went
to the lake close to where Hinemoa was, and dipped in a calabash. The
maiden, being frightened, called out to him in a gruff voice like a
man's, 'Who is that water for?' He replied, 'It is for Tutanekai.'
'Give it to me, then,' said Hinemoa. Having finished drinking, she
purposely threw down the calabash and broke it. The slave went back,
and told Tutanekai that a man in the bath had broken it. This occurred
more than once. Then Tutanekai in a rage went down to the bath, and
searching about, caught hold of a hand. 'Who is this?' said he. 'It
is I, Hinemoa.' So they were married, and lived happily," said Erena,
concluding rather abruptly. "Oh, the next trouble which occurred was
that Tiki, the friend of Tutanekai's heart, grew ill and like to die
because he had no wife, after being deprived of his friend and heart's
brother. However, he was consoled with the hand of Tupe, the young
sister of Tutanekai, and all was joy and peace."
At this happy ending the two Maori girls clapped their hands and
shouted, "_Kapai, Kapai!_" till the lake-shore echoed again. Then
dashing in their paddles, they rowed with such power and pace that
they were soon landed at the legendary point of rock whence Hinemoa,
love-guided, tempted the night, the darkness, and the unknown deeps.
* * * * *
The allotted days passed all too quickly. They had wandered through the
forest aisles and silent over-arching glades of Tikitapu; had stood
on the saffron-hued flooring of Sulphur Point; had revelled in the
life-renewing waters of the "Rachel" and the "Priest's" hot springs,
whence all who bathe in faith issue cured of earthly ailments. The Oil
Bath, the Blue Bath, the Spout Bath were successively tested, until, as
it seemed to Massinger, he had acquired a new skin, almost a new soul
and body, so exalted seemed every motion of sense and spirit.
At Whakarewarewa the great Pohutu Geyser, with its eruptive column of
steam and water, nearly eighty feet in height, had been visited; also
the grim and terrible Brain Pot, unknowing of the tragedy of which it
was to be the scene, concluding with the dread and noisome Dantean
valley redolent of the sights and sounds of the Inferno, even Tikitere.
But one more day remained, and the trio were engaged in debate as
to the manner in which it should be spent, so as to compress the
greatest possible enjoyment into the "grudging hours," when a party
of natives was observed to come through the fern-covered flat between
Whakarewarewa and the lake, and at once proceed to the carved house.
Here a number of the tribe, including the chief and certain elders, at
once assembled.
"News of importance," said Warwick. "Something is in the wind; I must
go over and see."
There was no doubting the fact that highly important intelligence had
been received. The whole tribe was astir, and buzzing like a swarm of
angry bees. When Warwick returned his face was grave and anxious.
"As I feared," he said. "The Governor has been obstinate in the wrong
place; he would not give way in the case of the Waitara block. Blood
has been shed. The Waikato tribes are massing their men, and threaten
to attack Taranaki. _War is declared._ Outlying settlers have been
killed. There is no going back now."
"This looks serious indeed," said Massinger, not, however, without a
certain alertness of manner which showed that the romance of war was
uppermost in his mind. "What is to be done? or where must we go?"
"It has come at last; I was certain that it would," said Erena. "What
a terrible thing it is that men should be so foolish, so selfish! But
we must do something, and not talk about it. I am for making across to
Hokianga, and must go and prepare at once."
"Her idea is a good one," said Warwick, as the girl ran down to her
end of the camp and called up her women. "We can get over to Horaki
and go down the river by boat. The neighbourhood will be quiet as yet.
We can trust the Ngapuhi, with Waka Nene to keep them steady, to be
loyal to England. He never wavered in Heke's war, and is not likely to
do so now. We must take leave of this chief, and get away without loss
of time. But who comes now--with a following, too? This looks like a
_taua_."
Here a fresh excitement arose, while shouts of "_Haere mai!_" and
other words of welcome, more strongly emphasized than usual, denoted
the arrival of a personage of importance. A comparatively large
body of men, well armed, and superior to the ordinary natives of
the district in height and warlike appearance, had come in sight.
They marched regularly, and as they came up, all carrying muskets
and cartridge-pouches, they presented a highly effective and martial
appearance. Their leader was a white man.
At this moment Erena, who had been busied with her female attendants,
reappeared. The moment she caught sight of the contingent she uttered a
cry of joy, and, turning to Massinger, said--
"This is indeed most fortunate. We shall have no more trouble about
routes. Yonder is my father. Let us go to meet him."
As she spoke Massinger noticed that the leader of the party, after a
few words of greeting to the chief, had turned in their direction, and
commenced to walk slowly towards them. As they approached one another,
Erena seemed anxious to explain to him the fact of her father's
appearance at Rotorua at this particular time.
"He has, no doubt, had news of the likelihood of war, and has been to
some portion of the tribe at a distance on some message for Waka Nene.
He ranks as a war chief in the tribe since the old war, and has much
influence."
By the time the explanation was concluded they were almost face to
face, and Massinger was enabled to note the appearance and bearing of
Allister Mannering, perhaps the most remarkable man among the by no
means inconsiderable number of distinguished persons who from time to
time had elected to cast in their lot with the children of Maui.
Massinger, in later years, always asserted that never in his whole life
had he been so much impressed by the personality of any living man as
by the remarkable individual who now stood before him. Tall beyond the
ordinary stature of manhood, but of matchless symmetry, and moulded not
less for activity than strength, there was a compelling air of command
in his eye which every motion confirmed. His expression was grave and
stern, but as he approached Erena, who ran to meet him, a wave of
tenderness crossed his features like the ripple on a slumbering sea.
Then he folded his daughter in his arms with every token of paternal
fondness.
Whatever somewhat belated explanation of the position Massinger was
arranging in his mind, was arrested by the meeting between father and
child. After a short colloquy Mr. Mannering advanced, and with perfect
courtesy expressed his pleasure in welcoming him to Rotorua.
"I see that Erena has, with the help of Warwick here, done her part in
showing you some of our wonders. Like her historic ancestress, she has
a strong will of her own, but had I not the most thorough confidence
in her prudence, as well as in the honour of an English gentleman, you
will acknowledge that I might have cause for disapproval."
Here his steady, searching gaze was fixed full upon Massinger, who felt
how poor a chance an unworthy adventurer would have, standing thus
before him. But he met his accost frankly.
"I am indeed gratified to have met you, Mr. Mannering," he made answer.
"I owe much of the charm of this month's travel and adventure to your
daughter's companionship. It will be a lifelong memory, I assure you."
"You are neither of you to say any more about it," interposed Erena,
with a playful air of command, hanging on her father's arm and menacing
Massinger. "I am sure _I_ enjoyed myself very much; so we are all
pleased,--which ends that part of the story. But oh! father, is it
true that the war has commenced? If so, what are we to do, and how is
Mr. Massinger to get back to Auckland? I thought of going straight to
Hokianga."
"Exactly what we are to do, not later than tomorrow morning. That is,
I am going, you are going, also my _taua_, whose only prayer is to
fall in with some of the Waikatos, not more than double their number,
and have a good old-fashioned bloodthirsty battle. They are all men
who have grown up since Heke's war, and are spoiling for a fight. As
for this gentleman's and Warwick's movements, they can settle them
independently. I suggest that they avail themselves of my escort to
Hokianga, whence they can easily find a passage to Auckland."
"Nothing could suit my purpose better," said Massinger. "I shall feel
honoured by your company. Warwick will probably return with me."
Here the guide nodded assent.
"That is settled. You will find a hearty welcome from our chief, who
has returned. I am proud to call him my earliest and best friend. So,
as you are interested in Maori life and customs, you will never have a
better opportunity of studying them under their natural conditions--I
mean in time of war."
"In the land and the people I take an interest so deep that it will
fade only with my life. Deeds, however, are more in my line, and by
them I trust to be judged."
"There is a time coming for all of us," said Mr. Mannering, gravely,
"when the valour and wisdom of both races will be put to the test. I
have no doubt of the first. I only hope that the second may not be
found wanting in the day of trial. And now, if you will excuse me, I
must go back and hold diplomatic palaver with Hiki-aro, the chief here,
and his most potent, grave, and reverend seigneurs. My men will be off
duty, and will amuse themselves with games--most probably a war-dance,
which you may like to see."
"I have seen one already in Auckland, but I will look on."
"And I will _not_," said Erena. "It is an abominable heathen custom,
making these ignorant natives worse than they are, and recalling the
bad old times which every one should be ashamed to speak about. I shall
pack up and get ready for an early start."
"You won't change 'Tangata Maori' just yet, my dear Erena," said
Mannering. "This war will throw him back a few years. But I agree
with you that these old customs should be suffered to die out, and as
we shall have ample time to discuss the war on the road home, I will
reserve mention of it till tomorrow."
So saying, he departed to his _taua_, who, not until he dismissed them,
piled their muskets, over which, in despite of their friendly relations
with Rotorua, they set an adequate guard. They were soon observed to
join their compatriots in a copious and hospitable meal provided by the
women of the tribe.
"How relieved I am!" said Warwick, when father and daughter had
departed on their respective errands. "Nothing could have been more
fortunate than meeting Mr. Mannering here. Even in travelling to
Hokianga, a friendly route, we might have met a skirmishing _taua_
like his own, and, in spite of Waka Nene's passport, would have stood
but little show of escaping. Maori blood has been shed, as well as
white, and any murder of stray Europeans or hostile natives would be
justifiable, according to inter-tribal law."
"Then we are safe as far as Hokianga?"
"I should say perfectly so. Mr. Mannering is a tower of strength; no
single _taua_ dares tackle his. His bodyguard are picked men, known to
be equal to almost double their number. Then, of course, he has the
whole Ngapuhi tribe, five thousand strong, at his back."
"And when we get to this Hokianga, as it is called? Is it a township?"
"It's a noble river, miles wide near the sea, with towns and villages
on it. In the grand forests of Kauri Totara and other pine woods
within reach, a great timber trade has flourished for many years past.
Sailing-vessels ply between Horaki, Rawini, and Auckland, so there will
be no difficulty in getting back."
The ceremonies proper to leave-taking having been transacted, the
reinforced party set out for the Hokianga, through what are mostly
described as pathless woods interspersed with morasses.
When the march was less difficult, and there was leisure for
conversation, Mannering beguiled the way with tales and reminiscences
which caused Massinger to wonder unceasingly that a man so variously
gifted, possessed of such social charm, so wide an experience of
men and books, should have elected to wear out his life amid a
barbaric race. "Doubtless," thought he, "this man belongs to the true
Viking breed, a born leader of men, impatient of the restraints of
civilization, not to be contented without the quickening presence of
danger, 'the dust of desperate battle,' the savour of blood, even. Such
men have always been thrown off, from time to time, by our sea-roving
race; have nobly done their parts in subduing for the empire the waste
places of the earth. His hair is tinged with grey, but how springy his
long elastic strides, how youthful are all his movements, how joyous
his laugh, how keen his sense of humour! An _Anax andrōn_--a king of
men, without doubt. No wonder that his daughter should have inherited,
along with her glorious physical perfection, which she owes in part
to her mother's race, the higher intelligence and lofty ideals which
ennoble 'the heirs of all the ages, and the foremost files of Time!'"