at him disdainfully and spoke: ‘Truly, of all the warriors you are the
strongest, and beautiful is the tattoo on your face and your body, and
you do the dirty work of slaves! Ha, you have the face of the War God;
but, truly you have the heart of a pigeon!’ And he answered: ‘You speak
truth: I am a slave till I free my sister Matike; but soon I will show
your warriors that they are women, for they fought women!’ And Te-marama
spoke: ‘If you are Tihi-o-te-Rangi, truly then you are the best of all
warriors, for you lower yourself to a slave to free a woman; but listen,
Tihi: Matike is a slave no longer--for her beauty she is taken by the
chief Takerangi to share his resting-place and his mana.’ When Tihi heard
Te-marama speaking thus, joy entered in his heart and he said: ‘Sweet
is it for the eyes to rest upon the Flower of the North, and her words
give gladness to my heart! Listen! When Tihi-o-te-Rangi shall carry the
powerful war-weapon of his tribe before his wrathful warriors into the
land of Tu-poho, to kill and revenge my people, to eat and destroy the
Nga-puhi, then shall revenge live in the one half of his heart, but
it will carry peace in the other half, and joy and sweetness to the
whare-puni of the Flower of the North!’
In the blackness of night he left the tribe, and went back to his
destroyed pa again. There he sent messengers to all the tribes in the
mountains calling them to revenge themselves upon Tu-poho. Warhapu after
Warhapu followed his call, and all came burning for revenge--ah, a great
many warriors all along the river were preparing for a great slaughter
and a feasting on their enemy Tu-poho and his tribe, but the time for
travelling was not yet come.
The greatest rage was in the heart of Tihi, and he built high palisades
around his pa, the strongest and highest in all the land;--but in the
shade of the evenings his mind kept ever forming the image of the
beautiful maiden Te-marama: then his heart began to tremble, and the
War God was hidden by clouds. And he sat lonely, and made presents to
the Tohungas that they may hold incantations to the gods who govern the
heart and desires of women. Ah, it was at that time that far in Nga-puhi
Te-marama sat, listless and lonely, on the shores of the sea; ah, many
days and many nights did she sit there, listless and lonely.
One morning, while the sun was rising out of the sea, she could bear it
no longer: she called her slave to put some food into a basket, and bade
her follow her.
Ah, my friend, that was the beginning of Te-marama’s great wandering over
the pathless land, through the dark forests, and along the endless shores.
Ah, she followed the gods whose help the incantations of Tihi had gained,
followed them, on and on, living on the wild berries of the forest and
on the food that the shores of the sea offered her; sleeping under the
rocks and upon the branches of the trees, always living in fear of the
multitude of bad spirits--ah, the incantations of Tihi sent courage in
her heart and the longing to overcome all fear.
At last she came to the pa Kau-ara-paua, and there she asked for
Tihi-o-te-Rangi. But Tihi was living in his pa Tuke-a-maui; so she went
up the river in a canoe, and the people of the pas on the shores were
good to her, and gave her food, and marvelled at her beauty.
Many questions she asked as to where she might find Tihi-o-te-Rangi,
and one evening, while resting in the whare of Rongo-mai, she related
the story of her long wandering, and told that she was Te-marama, the
daughter of Tu-poho--ah, my friend!
The face of Rongo-mai grew black! Ah, all his relatives were killed by
Tu-poho! Up he jumped, and walking up and down before the assembled
people he swung his Taiaha (war-weapon), and with rolling eyes and
frightful jumps and movements he chanted terrible words to the spirits of
his relations, who were still crying in the forest, for their bones were
scattered over the world and their flesh was eaten, and their death never
revenged. His rage was terrible, and, suddenly jumping forward, he killed
Te-marama with one powerful blow of his weapon!
Ah, his frightful words had filled the hearts of the people with rage
and revenge, and terrible cries of wrath and spite filled the whare!
They took the heart of Te-marama, and offered a part of it to the
crying spirits of their relatives; then they cooked the remaining part
for Rongo-mai, who ate it in spiteful insult to Tuwhare. Then they
cooked the body of the girl, who came to give gladness to the heart of
Tihi-o-te-Rangi, their most powerful chief, and feasted upon it!
Ah, my friend, Tihi was near, but the joy of his heart and the sweetness
of his mind was killed; the heart, beating for Tihi, was offered to the
gods of revenge--ah, my friend!
The slave escaped, and her tears were floods, and frightful her cries,
and terrible her words of insult when she met Tihi: ‘O, Tihi, look at
Te-marama, who was truly your slave, look upon her, look; look upon her
bones in the mouths of your people of dogs; go and look for the eyes of
your girl in the stomach of the dog Rongo-mai; go, that the dogs of your
people may devour you, you rangatira of a tribe of dogs!’
[Illustration: A TANGI]
Up flamed the blood of Tihi, his eyes burned, his hands trembled; with
one blow of his mere he killed the slave that he might not hear more.
He cut his hair, and offered it to the gods who have the rage of man in
their keeping, and then he went to revenge Te-marama! He killed Rongo-mai
and all his family and his relatives and friends and all who took part
in the feasting and all who were related to them; and he invited all his
tribes to feast upon the slain, to shout insult and spite over the dead
and their bones far into the world, and to curse their bones, to break
them, and scatter them all over the world!--
Ah, ah, my friend--but Tihi! Ah, from that time he sat alone at the fire
in his whare-puni, brooding and sorrowing and crying; and happiness
never again entered his heart--Tihi-o-te-Rangi! But then, my friend, he
collected his warriors against the enemy Tu-poho, and from that time the
frightful war was waged between the two insulted chiefs of which the
people of both tribes know numberless doleful songs.”
[Illustration]
XVI
THE BATTLE OF THE GIANTS
Calmness reigned over the world, and Ngawai’s murmurings died away in the
silent night.
Incantations.
Yes, Ngawai, your story was beautiful, your story of Te-marama and Tihi,
the warrior; but many hours has the night, and my mind wandered out
to the Little Ones, the Patu-paiarehe, and they told me the spirit of
Te-marama was not dead, but still wandered along the path that leads to
gladden the heart of man; and her name was Ngawai.
But, Ngawai, look, the fire has burnt lower and lower, and no fresh wood
has been put on the embers----but look, there, yonder! Look how the snow
of the mountain is hailing joyfully the Morning Sun.
“Ah, too young is still the morning, my good friend, for the wanderings
of man, rest and listen----”
Beautiful crimson and golden, and blue and silver-white, with hushing
shades and flashing lights rises the mountain-world into the new-born
day. Like God’s own messenger of peace towers the snow-clad giant over
the world, breathing his grandness into the universe.
How small is man, wandering over the endless base of the giant, over
the dead and burnt stone-wilderness! No green, no grass--the friend of
man--enlivens the vastness out of which the eternal silence is growing
into the lonely magnificence.
This is Ngawai’s story:
THE GIANTS
Once the volcanoes Taranaki, Ruapehu, and Tongariro dwelled together.
That was the time when Tongariro in her wonderful beauty had captured
the fiery hearts of the two giants, so that their joy filled the heavens
with majestic outbursts and covered the earth with their dark-glowing
heart-blood of fiery lava and molten stones.
Softly then answered the gently ascending Steam-column of Tongariro,
smiling and swaying, gold-bordered by the setting sun; smiling at both
her suitors.
Ah, Tongariro was a woman!
Both, the straight and simple Taranaki and the rugged and strong Ruapehu,
their cloud-piercing heads covered with spotless snow, or adorned in
their passion-glowing lava-streams, were beloved by Tongariro; but the
snows of the winter and the suns of the summer came and went from the
first time, to the hundredth time, to the thousandth time, and still
Tongariro was undecided whom she would prefer for a husband.
She became the sacred mountain of the Maori people; her beauty captured
the hearts of all, so that she became the possessor of the highest tapu,
and no foot dared walk upon her, and only the eyes of the new-born were
directed towards her; and the eyes of the departing rested full love upon
her beauty, whilst they wandered to the Reinga.
[Illustration: A GIANT]
The eyes of generations upon generations of man.
Beautiful to behold from all the lands was the great love of the giants;
now all covered with glittering snow, now hiding in the clouds and
bursting forth, covered with strange and wonderful beauty; now girdling
their bodies with clouds and lifting their endless heads into the golden
heavens; and now again breaking forth into terrible passions, covering
the earth with blackness.
Ah, Tongariro roused the passions of the giants: she made the volcanoes
tremble! Their blood of fire and boiling stones shook them, the
thundering of their voices, roaring insults at each other, made the earth
tremble. Streams of lightning pierced the nights, and black smoke of
deadly hate darkened the days, and the ears of man were filled with the
roaring hate of the giants, and their wondering eyes beheld the beauty of
Tongariro, smiling at both!
At last the two rivals decided to fight for Tongariro!
Now followed days of silence. The giants stood there grim and silent to
the world, but they were gathering strength, and were melting stones in
their insides, and lit terrible fires, their powerful weapons. So they
stood silent and grim; the sun gilding their beautiful garments of snow,
and Tongariro smiled at them with her graceful swaying column of steam;
and the Maori people looked wonderingly upon the peaceful landscape.
Then a rolling grew into the nights, and rolling filled the days; louder
and louder, night after night, day after day--a terrible groaning, damp
and deep. Suddenly a crashing thunder shook the earth, and bursting forth
from the mouth of Ruapehu a fiery mass of molten stones and black hate
and fury fell upon Taranaki, covering him with a terrible coat of fire,
whilst the flying winds howled and the melted snow-waters fled thundering
down into the valleys.
A beautiful straight form gave the mass of fire and ashes to
Taranaki--but he shook in terrible rage! He tore himself out of the
ground, shaking the earth and breaking the lands asunder; he tried to
fly at Ruapehu, to kill him with his weight. But Ruapehu made the water
of his lake, high up in the snows, boil, and, hurling it down, it filled
all the rends Taranaki had made in the earth, and burned all the inside
of the earth and of Taranaki himself. He now, tearing the air with his
roaring cries of pain and thundering howling of rage, threw a tremendous
mass of stones at his enemy, and broke the highest cone, the loftiest
peak of Ruapehu, so that his looks were not so majestic, and his reach
not so far into the skies.
Ruapehu now, in deadly hate, swallowed his broken cone and melted it; he
lit terrible fires in his inside, which spread to the lake Roto-aira, so
that it rose and boiled, the steam covering all the world and blinding
Taranaki. Then Ruapehu filled himself with the boiling water, and,
throwing it out of his mouth down upon Taranaki, it filled all the
crevices, and it lifted him, for he himself had loosened his bonds with
the earth; and now, darkening day into night, he sent the molten mass
of his swallowed cone against his enemy, so that he was compelled to
retreat: blinded by steam, burned in his inside by the boiling water, and
covered with the molten mass of the cone of Ruapehu he himself had broken.
He groaned, and rose, and tumbled, and shook himself; and he felt for a
way to the sea to cool his burning pain; howling in unbearable pain he
had to run, in order to get out of reach of Ruapehu, deeply hollowing his
path through the lands. But his conqueror, Ruapehu, melting all his ice
and snow, sent it as boiling water into this deep path, that his enemy
might not come back again, for his strength also was exhausted.
On to the sea went Taranaki, and, when his pain had left him a little,
he looked back at his conqueror, and saw how his three peaks were again
covered with fresh snow, and how he was now the supreme lord over all the
lands and the husband of Tongariro. They two were now the arikis over
all the land; but it was waste now, and dead, for the terrible fight had
killed all the people and the living beings all around. Once more a burst
of black anger broke forth from Taranaki, and again it was answered by
a wonderful swaying and smiling steam-column from Tongariro; and then
he went and wandered along the coast till he had found a place for his
sorrow. There he stands now, brooding on revenge.
“And my people know that one day he will come back in a straight line, to
fight Ruapehu again; and none of my people will ever live or be buried
in that lime; for one day he will come back to fight for Tongariro--who
knows?”
But the path of Taranaki to the sea is now the Wanganui River.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE BATTLE]
XVII
THE COMING OF THE MAORI.
[Illustration]
A long double sailing-canoe, with a connecting platform and a thatched
deck-house amidships, put off one day long ago into the Great Ocean of
Kiwa from the palm-clad shores of Tahiti the Golden, in the far South
Seas. A multitude of brown people stood on the shining beach, with loud
cries bidding farewell to the brave band of kinsmen who were adventuring
into the vast unknown places in search of a new and wider land. In their
midst, leaning on his staff, was the patriarchal chief Hou-mai-tawhiti.
Bent by the weight of years was the ancient man, and his long white
beard swept his breast. And as the canoe-paddles took the water and she
gathered way, a voice of Hou’ was heard crying his poroporoaki, his
farewell to the crew. “Go! Go! Depart to your new land. Leave war and
strife behind you. Follow not after the God of War; hold to the deeds of
Rongo the Peaceful. Haere! Haere! Haere atu ra!”
And then the sails of the great canoe were hoisted, the foresail, the
main and the mizzen, for she had three masts--lofty triangular mat-sails
with the apex downwards. Like a huge sea-bird she swept across the
blue lagoon to the reef-opening; then she bravely mounted up on the
great ocean-rollers, te-whare-hukahuka-a-Tangaroa (“the sea-god’s foamy
dwelling”). The brisk trade-wind filled her sails, and away she bounded
into the south-west, growing smaller and smaller--a mere speck upon the
great waters, until she faded from the vision of the keenest watcher on
the shore.
This was the Arawa, most famous of all the historic fleet of canoes
that voyaged thousands of miles across the Pacific to this new land
Ao-tea-roa, the Great White World. Her commander was Tama-te-Kapua (Son
of the Clouds), the son of the venerable Hou-mai-Tawhiti. And of Tama’s
doings and the perils that befell the Maori Mayflower I shall briefly
tell.
Tama-te-Kapua was a bold and cunning man. He invited the high-priest
Ngatoro-i-Rangi on board the Arawa to perform the sacred rites
appropriate on the occasion of putting to sea, and then refused to allow
him on shore again. He carried him off across the ocean to be the Arawa’s
priest, knowing that Ngatoro’ was under the protection of the atuas and
ancestral spirits of the race, and that he was indeed almost a god in
himself.
While crossing the ocean in search of the new land Ao-tea-roa,
Tama-te-Kapua clandestinely gained the affections of the lady Kearoa, the
wife of Ngatoro-i-Rangi, who had accompanied her husband. When Ngatoro’
discovered this, he resolved to destroy the canoe and all that were on
board. So to this end he directed the bow of the Arawa straight towards
the Waha-o-te-Parata, the Mouth of the Sea-monster, a terrible whirlpool,
or maelstrom, in mid-ocean, which had sucked down many a vessel to
destruction. The sea-battered craft entered the outer circle of the
maelstrom, swiftly approached the fatal spot where the Ocean God drew
down the waters with an awful, roaring noise. The people in their terror
cried to Ngatoro-i-Rangi to save them, but he heeded not. Then stood up
Ika, one of the chiefs on board, and recited a karakia to Rangi, the Sky
God, praying him to save the canoe, te-kaokao-o-Tane, the ribs of Tane
the Tree God, and beat down the angry waves of Tangaroa.
But the ears of the gods were closed, and downwards surged the Arawa. The
roaring of the Waha-o-Parata grew more terrifying, and the men and women
and children on board cried again to Ngatoro-i-Rangi to save them. And
the high-priest rose, and in a wild chant he invoked Tangaroa the Ocean
God, and called upon many a deified ancestral spirit. Loud pealed his
awa-moana, his rhythmic storm-assuaging incantation (beginning “Unuhia,
unuhia te pou tapu, ko te pou mua, ko te pou roto”). He besought the gods
to draw out the canoe from the dread tumult of water, the sacred canoe
that once grew as a tree (pou-tapu) in the enchanted Forests of Tane--to
save from the throat of the Ogre of the Depths the ship of Ngatoro’. He
called upon the spirits of Ruarangi, of Maui-tiki-tiki-o-Taranga, to
descend by the path of Tawhaki the God-man from the heavens, and “clear
from perils all the ocean track of Ngatoro’.”
“O Ngahue!
Here am I in Parata’s Mouth.
Rise, O Tangaroa, rise!
Rise, O canoe and glide along!
We gather way;
’Tis a propitious tide;
The danger’s o’er!
(Eké, eké, Tangaroa!
Eké, panuké!
Hui-é!
Taiki-é!)”
[Illustration: HAWAIKI]
[Illustration: THE JOURNEY]
And the mana tapu, the supernatural influence of that awa-moana, and of
the Tohunga, was such that the terrific lashing of the sea was calmed,
the gaping whirlpool closed again; the great billows ceased to tumble,
the heavens grew light, and the canoe sailed on once more in safety over
the long heaving swell of the Ocean of Kiwa. Magical indeed was that
ringing sea-chant of Ngatoro’, as potent in its peace-compelling numbers
as that mermaid’s song of which Oberon discoursed to Puck in _A Midsummer
Night’s Dream_:--
“Thou rememberest since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back
Utter such dulcet and harmonious breath
That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the sea-maid’s music.”
It was midsummer when the sea-worn pilgrims at last made landfall on
the far-extending coast of the Long White World. As they drew close in
to the shores, near the East Cape of the North Island, they saw that
the cliffs, shining like chalk in the sun, were fringed with beautiful
trees, the pohutukawa. Groves of these trees, too, grew right down to
the tide-edge, and the rich crimson flowers which covered them were
reflected in glowing red (ura) in the calm and glassy waters. Several of
the people in the canoe wore red ornaments, relics of Hawaiki, in their
hair. On seeing the beautiful red flowers they impulsively threw their
own head-ornaments into the sea, and, when they leaped ashore they ran to
gather the blossoms of the pohutukawa to deck their hair, only to find to
their disappointment that they fell to pieces at a touch.
The first place where they landed was Whanga-paraoa (Whale Harbour),
so called because they found a great sperm-whale stranded there. Here
were performed the ceremonies of thanksgiving for safe arrival, the
offering of seaweed--the spoils of Tangaroa--and of the earth of the new
country to the gods. The sacred fire was kindled and the sacred kumara
roasted, in burnt sacrifice to the spirits of this vast strange land.
They coasted along, and finally hauled the canoe ashore at Maketu, whence
they travelled inland, exploring and making homes for themselves. It is
their descendants who now people the Geyserland district of Ao-tea-roa,
extending from the Bay of Plenty southwards to the great central lake of
Taupo. Ngatoro-i-Rangi the high-priest and his wife took up their abode
on the island of Motiti. From Ngatoro’ sprang a line of powerful priests
of Ariki rank, and one of his direct descendants is Te Heuheu Tukino, the
present head chief of Taupo.
Tama-te-Kapua wandered wide and far over the face of the Long White
World, and at last made his home on the bold mountainous headland which
the pakeha calls Cape Colville, guarding the Hauraki Gulf and its cloud
of islands. Here Tama’ died, and here his sons buried him, on the
forested ridge of Moehau. On the lofty mountain-top was the chieftain
laid to rest, and his sons as they performed the last rites said:
“Let him slumber here, where his spirit can gaze far over the ocean and
over the land of Ao-tea-roa. And the winds that sweep across the Great
Ocean of Kiwa, they shall ever sing his oriori, his wild lullaby.”
And to this day the mountain-cape where the Captain of the Arawa was
buried is called by the Maoris Te-Moe-hau-o-Tama-te-Kapua (Tama’s Windy
Sleeping-Place).
XVIII
TRADITION--TAMA-TE-KAPUA
[Illustration]
Along a narrow path through the flowering manuka-shrub led Ngawai; round
groaning, rolling, bursting, and steaming mud-craters wound the path,
and steam hissed everywhere from out the ground--now on to the larger
crater-basins full of boiling water, green, blue, white, and always
wonderfully transparent. Out of the middle of the basins rose vast
boiling columns out of the unmeasurable depth to the surface, there to
burst, bubbling and boiling. A beautiful but terror-inspiring spectacle
are these crater-pools: silent, heartless, death-bringing, boiling from
all beginning--from the time that Ngatoro-i-Rangi had called them from
Hawaiki by his incantations: boiling, boiling, boiling; crowned with a
thin cloud of steam, framed by the dripping, overhanging manuka-bushes.
Pitiless, eternal water-graves are these dark-green boiling seas, and
the everlasting gargling of the water is like a death-song of lost souls
hovering over them.
Dizzily narrow now led the path between two craters. Silently steamed the
large basin to the right, its neighbour gargled and bubbled. Suddenly,
as if by enchantment, the gargling water disappeared, and a moment
afterwards shot a majestic column of water from out of the funnel, the
air filling with vast clouds of steam. The whole column then broke in
itself together, roaring and splashing; the boiling water overflowed the
Geyser-crater and filled the large steaming basin, which is only by a
thin wall separated from the Geyser, with a fresh supply of hot water in
which the Maoris and their white friends enjoy their bath, their chat,
and their smoke, especially when the winds blow down from the snow-fields
of the mountains.
During the night the geysers groaned and burst and splashed all around:
the noises accompanied the stories of the old friend--sometimes
interrupting his murmurings, and sometimes lending power and truth to his
words.
[Illustration: THE FIRST OFFERING TO THE GODS]
[Illustration: Ngatoro-i-Rangi e Tama-te-Kapua]
TRADITION.
Ngatoro-i-Rangi is the Sun.
Tama-te-Kapua, the cloud invites the Sun to travel in his canoe, and
Ngatoro-i-Rangi, coming from the east, follows the invitation and brings
his wife, the Earth; for with the rising of the Sun out of darkness rises
also the Earth.
During the journey Ngatoro climbs up to the Height of the Midday, tying
the earth to him by his sun-rays; but Tama-te-Kapua unties the sun-rays
which bind the earth to the Sun--the cloud flies over the earth--and
takes her to his wife.
When Ngatoro now suddenly descends from on high, and bursts through the
clouds, then is it too late: his rays are too feeble to tie them quickly
again to the Earth.