Orakau was abandoned. The Gate Pah had been lost and won. It had also
been avenged at Te Ranga, where a hundred and twenty Ngaiterangi
warriors lay dead in the trenches, and the 43rd had full _utu_ for the
slaughter of their officers and comrades. With few exceptions, all the
high chiefs were among the slain. The boastful Rawiri, the chivalrous
Te Oriori, the Christian convert Henare Taratoa, had fought their last
fight. On the body of the latter was found a letter in the native
language, and the text, "If thine enemy hunger, give him food; if he
thirst, give him water."
Orakau was the Flodden of the Maori nation. As the fugitives from the
blood-stained pah trooped across the fords of the Puniu on the night
succeeding the fight, the parallel may well have occurred to Sir Walter
Scott's countrymen, so many of whom have adopted New Zealand as their
home.
"Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless splash,
While many a broken band,
Disordered through her currents dash,
To gain the Scottish land."
The war was practically over after the fall of Te Ranga. The turbulent
Waikato tribes had lost their high chiefs, their bravest young men. The
flower of the land of Maui lay low. The universal wail rose high in
a hundred kaingas. Taught by bitter experience, the more intelligent
natives had arrived at the conclusion that the resistless pakeha must
be obeyed. His soldiers and his sailors, his volunteers and his allies
(leading tribes of their own blood), his guns and his mortars, were all
too powerful. Their chiefs who had visited England and seen the might
of Britain had told them as much before. But, strong in the pride of
their own power and the oracles of the Tohungas, they did not believe
it. Now it was too plain to be disputed. Defeat was written in the
burned and disabled pahs, in the ruined farms, in the confiscated lands
of their ancestors, which they had no power to redeem. This, however,
was in strict accordance with Maori usage, with the law and custom of
Rauparaha, of Hongi Ika, of Te Waharoa, those ruthless conquerors and
their ancestors who had ravaged and annexed the lands of tribal foes
from time immemorial. _Væ Victis_ was one of the oldest of human laws.
It was theirs also. One grim feature of a returning and successful
expedition, the train of downcast or weeping slaves, driven along with
blows and shouts of derision, was wanting in this campaign. No heads of
chiefs or warriors were tossed out or stuck on poles as village after
village was passed. No bound captive was handed over to the relations
of the fallen for slow and dreadful torture. On the contrary, all the
combatants, save those convicted of murder or outrage, were dismissed
to their homes, while their wounded were tended in the hospitals of
these strangely constituted pakehas with the same care and skilfulness
as their own.
At Te Ranga was the last stand made by the Maori for the possession of
the lands of his forefathers. No more might he roam whither he would by
river and mountain, by lake, shore, or forest stream. The white man's
axe rang ceaselessly in his ancient woodlands; the white man's fields,
his crops and fences, raised barriers to free untrammelled wanderings
from sea to sea. Only in allotted districts, marked out by the white
surveyor, would he be permitted to live out his life. Even there, the
white man's school, the white man's church, the white man's policeman,
would be always with him. In the place of the chief who administered
justice and delivered sentence without remonstrance, without appeal,
there sat the white man's magistrate, hearing evidence which he did not
always understand, fining and imprisoning for offences against laws of
which they had neither experience nor comprehension.
This was the state of matters to which the Maori nation had come in the
opinion of the older men of the tribes, and not a few of the younger
warriors who had never quite given in their adhesion to the rule of
the stranger. Haughty and tameless as a race, showing by a thousand
instances their preference for death before dishonour, such was their
state of feeling at this time, that had there been any other land
available, they would probably have trooped away in one great migration
like the Moors out of Spain, there to learn to forget their hopes and
fears, their triumphs and their despair, far from the snow-crowned
ranges, the rushing rivers, the fertile valleys, and fire-breathing
mountains of their own loved land.
On the whole, perhaps, it was as well for them, and by no means to
the injury of the usurping pakeha, that the ever-girdling sea forbade
a national exodus. Stern foe as the Briton has ever been while the
fighting lasts, he is the most just and merciful of the world's
conquerors. Of the great Roman, when the sandals of his legions trod
over the prostrate peoples of the inhabited earth, it is recorded that
he permitted them such personal and civic liberty as they had rarely
enjoyed under their own rulers. Still, the privilege and boast of
uttering the magical words, _Civis Romanus sum_, had to be paid for
largely, as in the Apostle Paul's case. More liberal still, the Briton
presents his beaten foe with the priceless gift of his equal laws,
his equal suffrage. The ægis is thenceforth held over him, as of a
blood-brother and a peer, a citizen of that world-wide empire scarce
arrested by the poles, which rules and guards by its laws so large a
proportion of the inhabitants of our planet.
* * * * *
While the high contracting parties were settling important points to be
observed in the treaty, now necessary after the unconditional surrender
made in person by, and signed by, Wirimu Tamehana Te Waharoa, the
interests of private persons had their opportunity of consideration. In
the ranks of the Forest Rangers doubts were still expressed respecting
the fate of one Roland Massinger, reported missing since the affair of
the Gate Pah.
Slyde and Warwick were lying in hospital, severely wounded, still too
weak to undertake personal search. Warwick, who was near him when he
fell, had information to give which, if it accounted for his wounds,
was calculated to inspire doubts concerning his safety.
"He was shot from behind," he said. "I am as certain of it as that I
lie here; it was the act of that skulking scoundrel Ngarara. I was near
him at the time. Von Tempsky himself was hardly a foot in front of
him as he was trying to spring on to the parapet, when I heard a shot
behind us on the right flank. Mind, the troops were standing forward
for a bayonet charge, and the covering volleys were on the left flank.
It surprised me, so that I looked round; there I saw a band of the
Ngapuhi that had dashed up in advance of the main body. Sheltering
himself behind a tree, I saw Ngarara. He had missed the first time, but
had reloaded. I caught sight of his face for a moment as the second
report came, and Mr. Massinger fell forward on his face. Before I could
turn towards him I was knocked over by a bullet from a rifle-pit, and
knew no more. But a ranger who was close to me at the time, and helped
to carry me to the rear, heard Mannering shout out an order, upon which
several of the Maketu men closed round Massinger and carried him off.
Following them up, he was sure that he saw two women. These he didn't
recognize."
"Shouldn't wonder if one of them was the girl he was philandering with
at the Terraces. Heard she was with her father's _hapu_. Princess and
wounded knight business. Turn up all safe by-and-by."
"I'm not so sure," mused Warwick. "He's a treacherous dog, that
Ngarara. He'll have another try before he gives in--unless the chief
shoots him, which he's very likely to do, on sight."
"Summary justice," said Mr. Slyde. "Points in savage life, after all.
Come to think."
"I _saw_ him do it once," said Warwick. "I was a boy then. He shot a
Maori dead who had helped to murder a white man before the fellow's
friends."
"What did the tribe say?"
"Nothing--though there were many of the man's relations present. They
knew he was in the wrong. Besides, the act was that of a _chief_. That
means a good deal in this country."
"Seems it does. Power in the land. Must look up one with an eligible
daughter. A hundred thousand acres of the Waikato land would be a snug
dowry. Live like a baron of the Middle Ages. No more beastly reports to
write. Tell my directors to go to the reinga."
"How long is it before the doctor says we shall be fit to travel?" said
Warwick, wandering from the point.
"Three weeks at farthest. I vote we go on the scout for Massinger.
Can't leave him in the tents of the whatsynames--Amorites or something.
Dance at his wedding if we can do nothing else."
"I'll see it out," said Warwick.
"So we will, dear boy," said Mr. Slyde. "Have Ngarara's scalp. Revival
of ancient customs. Must have rational amusement now the war's over."
What did really happen to Massinger was this. He felt himself struck
under the right shoulder from behind by a hard blow as from a stone,
such being the sensation of a bullet-wound from undoubted personal
evidence. Before he had turned round to see who had given him such a
hurt, he felt a queer faintness, and noticed a stream of blood running
down his breast, while the evil face of Ngarara, lit up with revengeful
triumph, glared at him, partly covered by a huge kawaka tree.
Before he could combine the concrete and the abstract sufficiently to
formulate a theory, "darkness covered his eyes," and a sudden death
rehearsal was in full operation.
When he recovered his senses, the night was so far advanced that he
glanced upward to the stars with a half-conscious, wondering doubt
as to his condition and circumstances. On a rude litter, formed of
branches and twisted flax, the bed of grass and fern-leaves beneath him
being by no means uncomfortable, he was moving slowly along a forest
path, on which four bearers were trying to carry him as smoothly as
circumstances would admit of. Two women in native dress walked in
front, in one of whom, as she stopped to speak a word to the bearers,
he had no difficulty in recognizing Erena.
After an answering sentence from the bearer nearest him, she held up
her hand, and the little party halted. Coming close to his head, which
he was as yet unable to raise, she looked anxiously in his face, and in
softest accents said--
"You have awakened."
The loss of blood had been great, but by some styptic known to the
natives, a people much acquainted with wounds of all degree of
severity, it had been arrested. He tried to speak; a faint inarticulate
murmur was all the reply he could furnish. He raised himself; but the
effort was too painful, and again he became unconscious.
When he awoke once more he was aware that locomotion had ceased, and
that he was lying upon a couch covered with mats. All was darkness,
with the exception of flickering gleams thrown from a fire which was
lighted at the entrance of the vault or cave in which he was lodged.
Becoming more used to the dim uncertain light, he discerned the
limestone walls and roof, which were festooned with stalactites in all
sorts of fantastic, delicate shapes. There was a sound as of falling
water, so that the difficulty of assuaging thirst would not be among
the privations suffered by the inmates of this singular retreat. After
a while he was relieved by the appearance of his good angel, as he felt
impelled to call her.
"Tell me," he said, "how has all this come to pass? I am anxious to
hear about the fall of the Gate Pah, and the way I have been removed to
this place."
"I knew," she said, bending over him with the frank tenderness of a
woman who loves passionately, and does not fear to disguise the fact,
"that if you remained longer where you fell you would stand a chance of
being tomahawked, if not worse treated. My father gave the order for
you to be carried off, and at the same time signed to me that I and my
cousin Riria were to accompany you. The cave in which you find yourself
is only known to our hapu, and has always been regarded as being
impenetrable to any one not acquainted with the secret approach."
"But it was evident to me," said he, "that I was shot through the
body. How was the flow of blood stopped, and the wound found not to be
dangerous?"
"We were told," she said, "that it was not mortal by a well-known
tohunga of our tribe, who has been left a stage behind. He will be
here tomorrow, and is a medicine-man of some repute, I can assure
you. He applied a styptic, which was successful, and found that the
bullet-wound, though it had grazed the lung, would not be dangerous,
though hard to heal."
"I owe everything to you, dearest Erena," he said, pressing the hand
which lay nearest to him; "and the life you have saved is yours for
ever. If I come scatheless out of this war, you will have no reason to
doubt my gratitude. How shall I ever repay you?"
"It is only too easy to do so," she said, as she gazed at him with
eyes that glowed with all the intensity of a woman's love, for the
first time awakened in that passionate nature. "But you must not talk
of gratitude," she continued, with a smile, "or I shall begin to doubt
whether you love me as _we_ love--in life, in death, to the grave, and
beyond it."
As she spoke, she wound her arms tenderly around him, and, kissing him
upon the forehead, hastily left the cave.
When she reappeared, bringing such food as the natives had been able to
secure, she said--
"Now you must eat all you can, and grow strong, as the sooner we leave
this 'Lizard's Cave,' as it is called, and get back to my father, the
better. I know that he will make for Rotorua as soon as the fighting is
over."
"Tell me about the Gate Pah," he said. "Our men were falling fast, were
they not?"
"Indeed, yes. Nearly all the officers were killed or mortally wounded
in less than a quarter of an hour. Colonel Booth died next day; the
captains of the 43rd were all killed, besides naval and volunteer
officers. The natives had determined to retreat by the rear of the pah,
but suddenly found themselves met by a detachment of the 43rd. They
rushed back, and, mingling with the soldiers, were taken by them for
a Maori reinforcement. Some one called out "Retreat!" and the troops,
having no officers, were seized with a panic, made a runaway--what you
call a rout of it."
Massinger groaned. "Who could have imagined it! Such a regiment as
the 43rd! Think what they did in the Peninsular war! Such things will
happen from time to time. Why didn't they _starve_ them out?"
"That was what my father and Waka Nene said. They were surrounded.
They had no water, and only raw potatoes to eat. In a few days they
must have given in. In Heke's war Colonel Despard made just the same
mistake. My father and Mr. Waterton were there."
"Tell me about it."
"Well, of course it was long, long ago--in 1845; but I heard my father
tell it once, and never forgot it. You heard of the Ohaieawa Pah, and
how the troops were repulsed then?"
"Yes; I read some account of it."
"It was like this fight. The pah was strongly defended, and the colonel
said he would take it by assault. My father and Mr. Waterton were
fighting along with the Ngapuhi under the chief Waka Nene. They came to
the colonel, and my father said, 'Colonel Despard, if you are going to
try to take the pah by assault before you make a breach--and you have
no artillery heavy enough--I consider it amounts to the murder of your
men, and it is my duty to tell you so. The chief Waka Nene is of the
same opinion.'
"'What does he know of the science of war?' said the colonel, angrily.
"'More than you do--that is, of Maori war,' said my father.
"'How dare you talk to me like that?' said the colonel, now very angry.
'I have a great mind to have you arrested.'
"'What does the pakeha rangatira say?' inquired Nene of Mr. Waterton,
as he saw that something serious was likely to happen.
"'He says he will arrest us,' said Mr. Waterton.
"Upon this the chief walked forward, and, looking in the colonel's
face, placed an arm on either of their shoulders. Then he said quietly--
"'These are _my_ pakehas. You must not touch them;' and he looked round
to his tribe, drawn up rank by rank at the foot of the hill."
"Well, and what happened?"
"The colonel turned away and said no more. The Ngapuhi tribe were
loyal to the English, and have been ever since. They would never have
conquered Heke without them."
"So he did attack the pah?"
"Yes--by bad fortune. The old chief drew his men off, and would not
join in the assault. The soldiers and sailors, also the volunteers,
tried to storm the pah, but were beaten back with dreadful loss. Many
were killed, and some taken prisoners. The natives left the pah the
next night, but it was a boast of Heke's tribe for years after that
they had beaten back a pakeha regiment of renown, and that some day, if
all the tribes would unite, they would drive the whites into the sea."
"It was well for us that they did not unite, by all accounts," said
Massinger; "for their numbers were greater than ours then by many
thousands. Now it is the other way, and unless they make peace their
doom is sealed."
"You must not talk any more," said Erena, with playful authority. "Old
Tiro-hanga will come up tomorrow, and then he will say if you can be
moved. You had better try and go to sleep."
* * * * *
The war was now virtually over. The Waikato tribes and their allies,
the Ngatiawa and the Ngatihaua, had surrendered unconditionally. The
wounded warriors, Slyde and Warwick, were in a condition to be moved to
Auckland, where rest and comfort awaited them. The military surgeon,
in releasing them from camp quarters and fare, advised them to take
advantage of all the comforts of civilization, which he believed would
effect a more speedy cure than any of the resources of his profession.
"You've had a narrow shave, both of you," he said--"particularly
Warwick. When I saw him first, I hardly thought he was worth carrying
to the rear. We were short of bearers, too; not like those infernal
natives who have so many women about, full of pluck, and handier than
the men for that matter. By-the-by, what's become of that young friend
of yours? It's rumoured that the Ngapuhi carried him off. Beautiful
daughter, and so on. Romantic--very."
"Odd thing. Don't know where he is," said Mr. Slyde. "Warwick here
means to go on the scout as soon as his blessed wound heals. We're
getting anxious."
"I'm not," said Warwick. "Depend on it, if Erena Mannering has him in
charge, no harm will come to him. Not a man of the Ngapuhi but would
die in his defence, always excepting that brute Ngarara. We don't know
who were killed at Orakau and who got away yet. As long as he's above
ground neither Massinger nor Erena are safe."
"Seems badly managed, don't it," yawned Mr. Slyde, "when so many a good
fellow has gone down, that reptile should escape? Hope for the best,
however. Feel inclined to help Providence the next time we meet. Awful
sleepy work this recovery business. I must turn in."
* * * * *
Some anxiety might have been spared to his friends if they could have
beheld Mr. Massinger at the moment of their solicitude. The sun was
declining; the shimmering plain of Rotorua lake lay calm and still,
save for a lazy ripple on the beach below the room wherein the wounded
man lay, on a couch covered with mats of the finest texture. Beside him
sat Erena, regarding him from time to time with that rapt and earnest
gaze which a woman only bestows on the man she loves or the child of
her bosom. He had rallied since the first days of his wound, but the
pallor of his countenance, and his evident weakness, told those of
experience in gunshot wounds that the progress of recovery had been
arrested. In such a case the danger is worse, say the authorities, than
in the first loss of blood and organic injury. The patient moved as if
to raise himself, but desisted, as if such effort were beyond him.
"I cannot think," he said, "why I do not gain strength. I do not seem
to have improved in the least; rather the other way. I wonder if there
is any injury we don't know of."
"Pray God there is not!" she said, bending over him, and bathing his
forehead. "My father says he never knew old Tiro-hanga's medical
knowledge to fail. He says you only want time to be as well as ever.
How many wounds has he not recovered from?"
"I should be more than willing to believe him," said the sick man.
"But why am I so wretchedly weak? I feel as if I would like to die and
be done with it, if I am to lie here for weeks and months. But I am a
beast to complain, after all your goodness, child," he went on to say,
as the girl's eyes filled with tears. "Please forgive me; I am weak in
mind as well as body."
"Is my love nothing to you?" she cried, with sudden passion. "My life,
my life--for it hangs on yours? If you die, I die also. I swear I will
follow you to the reinga, as my mother would have said. I will not
remain behind. Do not doubt of that."
As she spoke she moved nearer to his couch, and, throwing herself on
her knees at his side, took his hand in both of hers, and, bowing her
face upon his breast, burst into a tempest of sobs, which shook every
portion of her frame.
Massinger, touched and partly alarmed by her grief, tried by all the
means in his power to soothe her, smoothing her abundant hair the
while, as it flowed over him in a cascade of rippling wavelets.
"My darling, my darling!" he said, "I owe my life to you, and it shall
be spent in proving my love and devotion. You must not despair, you who
are so brave. I am afraid you are not an Ariki, after all, but only a
woman--the best, the bravest, the dearest, in the world. This is only a
passing faintness. We shall live to spend many a glad year together."
"It is I who am weak," she said, lifting her tear-stained face, and
essaying to smile as she drew back the long silken tresses from her
brow. "Something seemed at that moment to warn me that I should never
live to claim your love. I have often felt it. But, if _your_ life is
spared for long years to come, I shall not mourn. No, no! But you will
never forget your poor Erena, who loved you--loved, yes, you will never
know how much!"
As she spoke her last words, she rose to her feet, pressed one
lingering, passionate kiss upon his forehead, and was gone.
With the dawn the tohunga arrived. This important and mysterious
personage, of which one was always to be found in the larger sections
of a tribe, combined the offices of priest and sorcerer with the more
practical profession of the physician. Unquestionably, his knowledge of
simples and general surgery was far from despicable. By incantations
and spells, it was thought in the tribe that he had foreknowledge of
the death or otherwise of his patients. As a soothsayer he had now used
the powerful spell of the "withered twigs." Chanting a _karakia_, with
a sudden jerk he broke off from the tree two of equal size and length.
The piece he held in his left hand snapped off short. The longer twig
remained in his right.
"The pakeha will not die," he exclaimed. "My art has saved him. It will
be good for the Ngapuhi tribe, and for the maiden Erena, whose mother I
so much loved."
Arriving at the couch of the stricken pakeha, he looked upon him
with solemn and mysterious regard. He felt his pulse, and minutely
scrutinized the cicatrice of the newly healed wound. Meanwhile the eyes
of the girl, dilated with terror and anxiety, watched his inscrutable
countenance, as the mother of the sick child in more conventional
abodes fixes her gaze on the physician, whose words contain the issues
of life or death.
"Speak, O Tiro-hanga! Say whether he will die--and I also. One word
will serve for both."
The tohunga placed his hand upon the shoulder of the excited girl,
whose every nerve seemed quivering, as if the tension of mind and body
had exhausted the limit of human endurance.
"As you are, so was your mother in her youth," he said, speaking with
deep though restrained feeling in the Maori tongue; "in those days when
the tall pakeha rangatira came to Hokianga from Maketu--he whose arm
was strong as the lancewood of the hillside, and whose counsel was wise
in the day of battle. I would have killed him, though my own life was
forfeit, had I not seen that _she_ would follow him to the reinga. But
I could not cause a hair of her head to be harmed, such was my bondage
to her _mana_. And you, O pakeha, will I save, likewise, for her sake.
Comfort yourself, O Erena; the pakeha will not die."
"Is it so? Truly do you say it?" almost gasped the frenzied maid. "Is
there anything more that we can do? Have you the healing medicine for
him?"
"I will prepare the bitter draught for him--that draught which will
bring a man back to life, though the jaws of death were closing over
him," said the tohunga. "When the sun is high, a change will come upon
him."
"Are you sure? Are you indeed aware that he will begin to gain
strength?" she asked eagerly. "He has been so terribly weak, and was
beginning to lose heart."
"Did the daughter of the Toa-rangatira ever know my saying to prove
false?" asked the priest, haughtily.
"Oh, no--no!" she rejoined hastily. "But tell me more. Shall we be
able to carry him to the homes of his people? And shall we be happy
afterwards?"
"I see," said the sage--"I see the pakeha standing among his people;
he is well; he is happy; joy is in his face--in his voice. But there
is blood--blood through it. I can see no more. There is a mist--a
darkness. The future is hidden from me."
"A bad omen," said the girl, sadly. "You saw blood, O Tiro-hanga! But I
care not for myself, so that _he_ be safe and unharmed."
"Such is the woman who loves," mused the tohunga, as he stalked moodily
towards the shore of the lake--"of whatever colour or race, in the old
days as well as in this present time, when chiefs are falling like
withered leaves, and the pakeha drives the tribes to their death,
as the wildfowl on the warm lakes. And what cares she if the whole
island is delivered to the stranger, and we become his slaves? All
her thought is for the recovery of this pakeha, whom, till ten moons
since, she never set eyes upon."
With this moral reflection concerning the "eternal feminine," the
substance of which has been stated by less recent philosophers, the
magician of the period betook himself to the raupo whare set apart for
him, where he remained long in deepest meditation, none of the humbler
members of the tribe daring to disturb him.
He stayed till the close of the following day, to watch the effect of
his potion, and finding that Massinger professed himself unaccountably
improved in mind and body, directed that in three days the patient
should commence his journey to the Oropi missionary settlement, and
departed mysteriously as he had arrived.
* * * * *
The day was drawing to a close when a cry from one of the Maori
converts at the mission station of Oropi informed the inmates of the
approach of strangers. Cyril Summers and his household still clung to
their lodge in the wilderness, in spite of the disquieting rumours
that evil was abroad, that murder and outrage were still possible. As
a matter of history, it has always been stated that, even after the
official surrender of an enemy, and the disbandment of troops, guerilla
bands capable of the wildest excesses are formed, recruited from the
more desperate ruffians, whom only the stern punishments of martial
law could hold down. Accustomed to comparative licence, often tacitly
condoned in time of war, and being--to give them their due--often
recklessly daring, their offences against discipline are leniently
judged. But when the excitement and the prizes of the campaign have
been removed, the period of enforced repose often appears to the
restless warrior of either side a season especially arranged for the
payment of outstanding grudges, or the plunder of isolated homesteads.
To the malevolent and treacherous Ngarara, devoured with jealousy of
the pakeha preferred before him, it appeared as though the demons of
wrath and revenge, worshipped by his ancestors, had delivered his
rival into his hands. Infuriated at hearing of his removal and partial
recovery, he had, by means of spies and kinsfolk, kept himself well
informed of Erena's movements. Fearing that the wounded soldier would
be withdrawn from his powers of injury, he resolved upon a bold stroke,
by which he could free himself of his rival, and possess himself of the
girl, for whom he was but too willing to sacrifice life itself.
Hypatia, ever alert to encounter the day's labours or adventures,
had been the first to hear the announcement of the arrival. With Mr.
Summers, she walked towards the small party which, emerging from the
forest, came slowly along the path to the homestead.
"These are strangers," said he, looking earnestly at the _cortége_.
"Three or four women, not more than a dozen men, and some one, either
weak or wounded, carried in a litter. Who can they be? To what tribe do
they belong?" he asked of the Maori servant woman who had followed them.
"Ngapuhi," said she confidently. "Rotorua natives, some of them, going
to the coast with sick man."
"Who is the girl walking by the litter?" asked Hypatia, with quickened
interest. "She is taller than the other women."
"Most like Erena Mannering. Not sure; but walk like her. Half-caste she
is, daughter of war-chief. Pakeha rangatira, belong to tribe all the
same."
"Now, I wonder if this can be Lieutenant Massinger?" said Summers. "He
has not been seen since the Gate Pah affair. This Erena Mannering was
reported to have carried him off, when he fell fighting bravely beside
Von Tempsky. His place of refuge may have become insecure; for that or
other reasons they may wish to reach the coast."
Hypatia made no reply, but, walking quickly with her companion, reached
the bearers of the invalid, as the girl, signing to them to halt,
accosted Mr. Summers.
"You are the missionary of Oropi?" said she, in perfectly good English,
spoken with a purity of intonation not always remarked in the colonists
of presumably higher education. "We are bringing a Forest Ranger who
was badly wounded at the Gate Pah to the coast. Will you kindly allow
us to rest for a day? He is very low, and much fatigued by the journey."
As she spoke, Hypatia fixed her eyes, with feelings alternating between
astonishment and admiration, upon this altogether amazing young person.
Dressed, or rather draped, like the native women who formed part of
the escort, without covering to head or feet, the simple attire rather
heightened than disguised her beauty. Her free and haughty carriage,
utterly unconscious as she seemed of her unconventional attire, the
splendour of her glorious eyes, startled Hypatia, while her graceful
pose as she turned to explain the situation reminded the English girl
of the statue of Diana which she had seen in the Pitti palace at Rome.
As the two girls faced each other, with the half-inquiring,
half-challenging regard of the partly conscious rivals of their sex,
they would have formed a contrast, rarely met in such completeness,
between the finished aristocrat of the old world and this wondrous
embodiment of all the womanly graces, reared amid the lonely lakes and
wildwood glades of a far land.
Alike in beauty, though one possessed the blue eyes, the abundant fair
hair, the delicate rose-bloom of the mother isle; the other the ebon
tresses, the flashing eyes, burning from time to time with a strange
lustre;--alike their classic figures and graceful movement, each might
have stood, had there been a painter in attendance, as the realization
of the glories and graces of early womanhood.
Hypatia took the initiative. "Of course Mr. Summers, all of us indeed,
will be too happy to be of service in such a sad case. And what is the
name of the wounded man? I am very pleased to meet you."
"And I also," said the Maori maiden. "You will speak to him, will you
not? Perhaps you may have seen him before."
Walking to the litter, a rude but efficient couch, Hypatia looked
down upon the wounded soldier, who tried feebly to raise himself. The
wasted form and drawn features of the sick man startled her, while in
the bearded face and pallid brow, from which he feebly essayed to push
back the clustering curls, she almost failed to recognize Roland de
Massinger.
For one moment she gazed in horror and dismay, then taking his wasted
hand and bending over his couch, the once calm and self-repressed
Hypatia Tollemache covered her face with her hands and wept like a
child.
"You know each other," said the forest maiden, in a deep low voice. "I
thought perhaps it might be _you_--you for whose sake he came to our
unhappy land, for whose sake he now lies, perhaps dying."
"Erena!" said the sick man, "what are you saying? Surely you are not
angry with Miss Tollemache? Is it her fault that I loved her once? Let
it be sufficient that now I love you. Give me your hand."
With a look of ineffable tenderness, she gave her hand obediently as
does a child.
"Miss Tollemache--Hypatia," he said, "she saved my life; will you not
be friends?"
A brighter gleam came into the tearful eyes of the English girl. "You
are more noble than I," she said. "His life has been given to you, to
save and retain. Let us be sisters."
They clasped hands with the fervour of generous youth, ere the passions
that rend and ravage have darkened the spirit. As their eyes met, the
wounded man looked up with a faint smile.
The state of Massinger's health necessitated more than one day's
sojourn at Oropi. However, on the following morning a marked
improvement had taken place, so that it was decided in council that a
farther stage might be reached on the way to Tauranga after the day's
rest. The sufferer had been allotted the chief guest-chamber, a modest
apartment, but exquisitely clean, whence looking forth on the mission
garden, the fruit trees and old-fashioned English flowers recalled that
beloved home-land which he had almost despaired of seeing again.
At the evening meal Erena, who had caused one of her dusky handmaidens
to bring from the camp a mysterious package, appeared in European
costume. Quietly but well dressed according to the fashion of the day,
it was a revelation to her entertainers and to Hypatia to mark the ease
and self-possession which she exhibited in her new part. The soft rich
voice, the perfect intonation, the repose of her manner, through which
but an occasional flash of emotion showed itself; the total absence of
gesture which, in her other habiliments, seemed natural to her;--all
these, as Hypatia admitted to herself, placed this antipodean maiden
on a perfect equality with the best specimens of European society.
When together they saw to the comfort of their patient, nothing could
have surpassed the good taste and delicacy of her ministrations.
Without making parade of proprietorship in the helpless sufferer, she
assumed the rank of his _fiancée_, appearing equally confident of her
companion's acceptance of that of friend and well-wisher.
In the case of many other women, her frank trust might possibly have
been misplaced. But the justice and generosity which were the leading
qualities of Hypatia Tollemache's nature, rendered her perfectly safe
as a companion, precluded by every impulse from conspiring against her
happiness.
As for Mrs. Summers and her husband, they were completely fascinated
by her, holding that the reputation which she enjoyed for beauty and
intelligence was even less than her due.
Hypatia, it may be, in the seclusion of her chamber, reflected, as
other maidens have been known to do, on perhaps the too hasty dismissal
of a lover so brave, so loyal, in every respect so worthy of woman's
holiest devotion. She had, against her heart's inclination, against
his fervent appeals, resolved to give her life to the regeneration of
the race, to the reform of the social system, to the alteration of a
condition of things which the efforts of saints, philosophers, rulers,
and prophets throughout nearly two thousand years had failed materially
to change. "Who was she," it now seemed to be inquired of her, by an
inward voice that would not be stilled, "that she should presume to
expect to move this colossal structure, so firmly rooted in the usages
of immemorial custom?"
In her first efforts, she had been discouraged and disillusioned. In
this her second endeavour, what had she effected? As a direct result of
her hasty and inconsiderate action, Massinger had abandoned home and
friends, rushed away for distraction to this Ultima Thule, at the very
end of the habitable globe, where he was now lying between life and
death. And, as if that was not a sufficiently dolorous conclusion, his
life had been saved by the courage and devotion of another woman, to
whom his faith was justly, irrevocably pledged. The full bitterness of
her position was reached, when she acknowledged to herself that in her
heart of hearts she was now conscious of feelings which before she had
only suspected.
But Hypatia Tollemache, strong and deeply seated as were her primal
emotions, was no lovesick girl to bewail herself over the inevitable;
to chafe to morbid unrest against Destiny, that ancient force, which
even the gods of an earlier world were powerless to disturb. No! "a
perfect woman nobly planned," she accepted the blame of her mistaken
act, as it now appeared to her, and facing, as she had full many a time
and oft done before, an uncongenial part in life's mysterious drama,
resolved to follow unswervingly the path marked out for her by duty
and principle. Was she to falter, to fail, because the unexpected had
happened; because life's thorny path had become difficult, well-nigh
impenetrable? "If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is
but small," said the wise king. More than once in time of trial had she
braced up her courage by recalling the warning. Once more she looked
the conflict of the future firmly in the face, and leaving her chamber
with fixed resolve and earnest prayer, felt a renewed confidence in her
ability to withstand, to undergo, whatever trials might be in store for
her.
On the following morning, which had been fixed for the departure of
the sick man and his attendants, it was evident that another day
would be required for restoring his strength, which had been much
drawn upon by the journey. He was most anxious to proceed; but Mr.
Summers, who was not without some knowledge of medicine, as well as
practical experience, distinctly forbade his removal. "It would be most
dangerous," he asserted; "and at least twenty-four hours' additional
rest was required before the patient could think of pursuing the
journey." Mrs. Summers also pleaded with Erena, who, though manifestly
anxious to reach a place of safety, consented to remain one more day.
"Do you think there is danger?" asked her gentle hostess. "I thought
the war was all over."
"The fight at Orakau is over, the last stand at Te Ranga was made
in vain; but the war is still in the hearts of the Waikato and the
Ngaiterangi," said the Maori girl. "My father has enemies, and I, even
I, have those who wish me evil. There is one whom I fear for _his_
sake"--here she intimated the room wherein Massinger lay. "It is hard
to know where he will strike."
"But do you think he would come here?" said Mrs. Summers, turning
pale. "We have never done anything but work and teach and pray for the
welfare of the natives."
"When blood has been once shed, there is little thought of good or
evil. And besides the old custom of revenge, a new religion has sprung
up among the tribes, called the 'Pai Marire.' They have a false
prophet, Te Ua, who persuades them that the pakehas are doomed to
destruction. They also carry about with them the head of an officer
of the 57th, whom they surprised at Ahuahu, and perform sacred rites
around it."
"What a dreadful thing!" said Mrs. Summers, rapidly approaching a
state of terror and amazement. "But surely they have always spared the
missionaries?"
"The new teaching is that all the missionaries are to be killed," said
the girl. "We have heard that Mr. Grace has been threatened, and Mr.
Fulloon's house burned."
"But will not the troops protect us?" urged Mrs. Summers. "I thought
they were quite close now?"
"They have marched to Te Awamutu. I was told so by a native woman
yesterday," said Erena. "She said, besides, that Ngarara, the man who
has sworn to revenge himself upon Roland, is out with a _taua_, or
war-party, and may at any time surprise us."
"I suppose that is the reason you were so anxious to get on?"
"Partly, yes. And, besides, I did not wish to bring trouble on your
household. But we must go forward tomorrow, and perhaps what I am
afraid of may never come to pass."
The day was mild and pleasant, though a louring sky had promised
otherwise in the early part of the morning. Massinger was able to be
moved into the sitting-room, and there, refreshed by his morning meal
and the change of situation, declared that he felt strong enough to
travel in the afternoon.
"We have arranged otherwise," said Erena, with a mock assumption of
authority. "One day will not make much difference. I am going to the
camp for an hour, so I will leave you to the care of Miss Tollemache."
Here she smiled playfully at Hypatia, who had just entered the room. "I
dare say you are anxious to have a talk together."
"How trusting and unsuspicious she is!" thought Hypatia. "Having once
received his troth, she is absolutely sure of his fidelity. She has a
noble nature, and, from me at least, she need not fear any disloyalty."
Mrs. Summers had already left the room. Then the man and the maiden
who had last met under such widely different circumstances in another
land, were once more free to have speech, undisturbed by the presence
of onlookers.
But for this forest nymph, so sweet, so strong, so impossible to
condemn, how differently even yet might their romance have ended! But
the knight was in the toils of the Queen of Faerye, and to Elfland he
must fare, under pain of death, or transformation to a being that even
_she_ could not recognize. A creature false to his plighted troth,
ungrateful to the girl who had saved his life at the risk of her own,
whose love he had won. A love not transient and fleeting, like so many
affected by the women of his race, founded upon vanity, ambition, greed
of wealth or rank, but changeless, immortal, strong as death, true to
the grave, even to the dark realm beyond it.
Hypatia had probed and purified her heart, and she felt, though she
loved him now with a force and passionate feeling hitherto unsuspected,
that she could not for worlds have accepted his hand, even had he
offered it.
They were now two different people. She, after trial, change, and the
bitterness of lost illusions, had vowed herself to the life-devotion
which succeeds the sanguine expectation of mighty work among the
heathen. He, the haggard, war-worn soldier, sick unto death and sore
wounded--ah! so unlike the trim sportsman and correctly attired country
gentleman of the old half-forgotten life.
He was the first to speak. She gazed on him with the pitying tenderness
of womanhood shining through her troubled eyes.
"A strange meeting, Miss Tollemache, in a strange land!" he said, with
a brave attempt to smile. "Rather a change from Hereford here! Who
would have thought of seeing _you_ here, of all people?"
She made haste to reply, lest the unshed tears should resist all
efforts to control them. She would have thrown herself on her knees by
the side of his couch and clasped his wasted hand, had she dared to
give vent to her feelings. Then she spoke lightly, though her mouth
quivered with the effort.
"Isn't it hard to say where you may fall in with any given man, or
woman either, if it comes to that, in these exciting days?"
"Certainly you are the last person I ever expected to see here," he
made answer, half musingly. "In New Zealand of all places, and at this
particular mission station!"
"It is easy of explanation. I was tired of London life--disillusioned,
if you will. You prophesied it, you may remember; and hearing from my
old schoolfellow, Mary Summers, that she was hard pressed for help in
her work, took my passage, and here I am."
"So I see," he replied gravely. "And from what I have heard lately, I
heartily wish that you were anywhere else."
"But, surely, if there be danger--and I suppose you mean that--I have
no more right to be shielded than another."
"Mrs. Summers, whom I deeply respect, has followed her husband in the
path of a plain duty. But why _you_, without ties or adequate reason,
should have volunteered for this forlorn hope, I cannot comprehend. It
is the personal sacrifice which has a charm for some women, I suppose,"
he went on.
"And for some men," she retorted, "else why should _you_ be here,
wounded almost to the death in a quarrel in which you had no share,
and which I believe in my heart you consider unjust. When will men
come to understand that women differ widely among themselves, and are
attracted, even as they are, by novelty and adventure?"
"Mine is only a man's answer, and scarcely logical either, but it
is the best I have. I came to New Zealand because I could not live
in England. Like you, I had lost a world of hope, trust, and fond
illusion. This war was commenced without my consent or support, but
finding myself between two camps, I chose the British one."
"It was very natural," she said with a sigh. "But tell me of yourself.
How were you wounded, and why did you not remain at the camp?"
"I should have remained there altogether," he said, with a flickering
smile, "had it not been for Erena and her two cousins. We met with a
reverse at the Gate Pah, and every man that fell near me was tomahawked
within two minutes. These girls rushed in through a hail of bullets
and dragged me into the high fern, where I lay safely until some of
the Ngapuhi joined them. They carried me to a cave only known to the
tohunga and a few individuals of the tribe."
"And after that?"
"I found next morning that the bleeding had been stopped and the wound
bandaged. Since then I have been terribly weak, but am now recovering
slowly, _very_ slowly. To-day I feel better than I have done for some
time past. I shall pick up as soon as we reach the shore."
"May God grant it," she replied. "If it was through any act of mine
that you quitted home and friends, I should feel that your blood was
on my head. When I think of your renunciation, I cannot help doubting
whether any woman is worth the sacrifice. And now we must say farewell.
You are to leave at dawn, I hear; so if we are doomed never to meet
again, think kindly of Hypatia Tollemache, and believe that you have
her best wishes, her prayers."
As she spoke she held out her hand, which he clasped in his; so thin
and wasted was it that the tears rose to her eyes. He pressed his lips
passionately to it, and relinquished the slender fingers with a sigh.
It was late when Erena returned. The little household was assembled
at the evening meal when she entered the room, and, declining to join
the repast, stood with a countenance troubled and darkly boding before
she spoke. So might Cassandra, as she stood before the Trojan host in
high-walled Ilion.
"Bad news!" she said abruptly. "So bad that it could hardly be worse.
This Hau-Hau sect is gaining ground. They are carrying round Captain
Boyd's head to stir up the tribes; they have murdered Mr. Volkner, and
are marching towards the coast. No one can tell where they will strike
next."
The countenances of the women blanched as this announcement was made.
Mr. Summers, though visibly affected, preserved his composure, as he
asked where the dreadful deed took place.
"At Opotiki," said Erena. "He came in a vessel, though he was warned
not to do so. He and Mr. Grace, another missionary, were at once taken
prisoners, and Mr. Volkner was hanged on a willow tree by Kereopa; the
tribe assenting."
"Is there any chance of their coming here?" said Mr. Summers. "We have
never had the slightest altercation with the tribes. I have been here
since 1850, and every thought of my heart, every word from my lips, has
been with the object of their benefit. No chief would permit such an
outrage, such an unheard-of crime."
"You do not know Kereopa," replied Erena. "He is one of those natives
who go perfectly mad when their blood is up, and think no more of
killing any man, woman, or child near him than you people do of
wringing the neck of a _kea_. Besides, Te Ua, who has declared himself
to be a prophet, boasts of a message from the angel Gabriel, that the
sword of the Lord and Gideon is committed into the hands of the Pai
Marire, with which to smite the pakeha and the unfaithful Maoris. But I
have sent one who will put Ropata on their track; if _he_ comes up with
them, they will learn more of Old Testament law."
"A day of rebuke and blasphemy, murder and outrage," groaned Cyril
Summers. "And is this to be the end of our labours? I feel inclined,
though it is putting one's hand to the plough and turning back, to make
for the coast until matters are more peaceful. What do you intend to
do?"
"My people and I, with Mr. Massinger, will start at midnight," said the
girl, decisively. "I wish now that we had left this morning. I implore
of you to leave with your family at the same time."
"But the road in the darkness?" said Summers. "The forest is difficult
to thread by daylight."
"To our guide," said Erena, "the night is as the day. We shall keep on
steadily until we reach Tauranga."
"I am tempted to join forces with you," he said. "But no! we must show
the natives that we believe what we have taught them--that God is able
to save those who trust in Him. Mary, Hypatia, you had better go with
Erena's party, and take the children."
The delicate form of Mary Summers seemed to gain height and dignity
as, with all the devoted courage of her "deep love's truth" shining in
her steadfast eyes, she said, "I have but to repeat the words I spoke
in the church where our lives were joined--'till death do us part.' My
place is by you, my darling, here and hereafter. May God protect us all
in this dread hour!"
"And Miss Tollemache?" said Erena, addressing Hypatia. "Will _you_ wait
for the coming of the Hau-Haus--to be carried off as a slave, perhaps?"
and here her piercing gaze seemed to read Hypatia's inmost soul. "You
do not know what that means; I do! Taunts and blows, water to draw,
burdens to carry, degradation unspeakable!"
The English girl drew herself up and returned the fixed regard of the
daughter of the South with a look as unblenching as her own, ere she
answered, calmly, almost haughtily--
"When I promised my friends to be a fellow-labourer with them, I made
no reservations. I have cast in my lot with them, and will share their
fortunes, even to the martyr's death, if it be so ordained."
Erena watched her with an expression of surprise which changed to frank
admiration.
"Farewell, O friends," she said; "may God protect you from all evil. As
for you, you are worthy of his friendship, of his _love_."
As she made the last gesture of farewell, she stooped, and taking
Hypatia's unresisting hand, raised it to her lips and glided from the
room.
It was no time for sleep. Praying and conversing by turns, the
household awaited the departure of the little band. From the verandah
they watched the bearers emerge from Massinger's room with the couch.
This they placed upon the litter on which he had lain for so many a
weary mile. They saw Erena take her place beside it as the bearers
moved silently away. A dark form glided before them on the narrow path,
the _cortége_ followed through the darksome arches of the forest, and
was swallowed up in the midnight gloom.
After their departure, the household engaged in prayer. When Cyril
Summers addressed the Almighty Disposer of events in earnest
supplication that His servants might be spared the last terrible
penalties of savage warfare, it cannot be doubted that each hearer's
inmost heart responded most fervently to the appeal. Mrs. Summers wept
as, with her hand in her husband's, she echoed his cry for deliverance,
and rising from her knees with streaming eyes, threw her arms around
Hypatia's neck.
"We have brought you into these horrors," she said. "Oh, why did I ever
encourage you to come to this fatal shore?"
From Hypatia's eyes there fell no tears. An intense and glowing lustre
seemed to burn in her deep blue eyes, as she gazed into the distance,
as one who sees what is hid from ordinary mortals. One could fancy
her a virgin martyr in the days of Nero, receiving her summons to the
arena. Unquestioning faith, dauntless courage, and an almost divine
pity, made radiant her countenance as she looked on Mary Summers and
her sleeping children.
"I am not afraid of what man can do to us," she said softly. "The God
whom we serve has power to deliver us in this dread hour. Did not
Erena say that a body of the Ngapuhi men were marching on the track
of the Hau-Hau band? 'Oh, rest in the Lord, and He will give thee thy
heart's desire.' As her sweet voice rose, and the beautiful words of
Mendelssohn's immortal work resounded through the room, a ray of hope
illumined the forlorn household, as with a final hand-clasp all retired
to their couches, though not to sleep."