INTRODUCTION TO THE CANNIBALS.
The next morning at break of day a dense fog was spreading heavily over
the river, but the rays of the sun were not long in piercing the mist,
which rapidly disappeared under the influence of the radiant orb. The
banks of the stream were released from their shroud, and the course of
the Waikato appeared in all its morning beauty.
A narrow tongue of land bristling with shrubbery ran out to a point
at the junction of the two rivers. The waters of the Waipa, which
flowed more swiftly, drove back those of the Waikato for a quarter of a
mile before they mingled; but the calm power of the one soon overcame
the boisterous impetuosity of the other, and both glided peacefully
together to the broad bosom of the Pacific.
As the mist rose, a boat might have been seen ascending the Waikato. It
was a canoe seventy feet long and five broad. The lofty prow resembled
that of a Venetian gondola, and the whole had been fashioned out of the
trunk of a pine. A bed of dry fern covered the bottom. Eight oars at
the bow propelled it up the river, while a man at the stern guided it
by means of a movable paddle.
This man was a native, of tall form, about forty-five years old, with
broad breast and powerful limbs. His protruding and deeply furrowed
brow, his fierce look and his sinister countenance, showed him to be a
formidable individual.
He was a Maori chief of high rank, as could be seen by the delicate
and compact tattooing that striped his face and body. Two black
spirals, starting from the nostrils of his aquiline nose, circled his
tawny eyes, met on his forehead, and were lost in his abundant hair.
His mouth, with its shining teeth, and his chin, were hidden beneath
a net-work of varied colors, while graceful lines wound down to his
sinewy breast.
There was no doubt as to his rank. The sharp albatross bone, used
by Maori tattooers, had furrowed his face five times, in close and
deep lines. That he had reached his fifth promotion was evident from
his haughty bearing. A large flaxen mat, ornamented with dog-skins,
enveloped his person; while a girdle, bloody with his recent conflicts,
encircled his waist. From his ears dangled ear-rings of green jade, and
around his neck hung necklaces of "pounamous," sacred stones to which
the New Zealanders attribute miraculous properties. At his side lay a
gun of English manufacture, and a "patou-patou," a kind of double-edged
hatchet.
Near him nine warriors, of lower rank, armed and of ferocious aspect,
some still suffering from recent wounds, stood in perfect immobility,
enveloped in their flaxen mantles. Three dogs of wild appearance were
stretched at their feet. The eight rowers seemed to be servants or
slaves of the chief. They worked vigorously, and the boat ascended the
current of the Waikato with remarkable swiftness.
In the centre of this long canoe, with feet tied, but hands free, were
ten European prisoners clinging closely to each other. They were Lord
Glenarvan and his companions.
[Sidenote: A TESTING TIME.]
The evening before, the little party, led astray by the dense fog, had
encamped in the midst of a numerous tribe of natives. About midnight,
the travelers, surprised in their sleep, were made prisoners and
carried on board the canoe. They had not yet been maltreated, but had
tried in vain to resist. Their arms and ammunition were in the hands of
the savages, and their own bullets would have quickly stretched them on
the earth had they attempted to escape.
They were not long in learning, by the aid of a few English words which
the natives used, that, being driven back by the British troops, they
were returning, vanquished and weakened, to the regions of the upper
Waikato. Their chief, after an obstinate resistance, in which he lost
his principal warriors, was now on his way to rouse again the river
tribes. He was called Kai-Koumou, a terrible name, which signified
in the native language "he who eats the limbs of his enemy." He was
brave and bold, but his cruelty equaled his bravery. No pity could be
expected from him. His name was well known to the English soldiers, and
a price had been set upon his head by the governor of New Zealand.
This terrible catastrophe had come upon Glenarvan just as he was
about reaching the long-desired harbor of Auckland, whence he would
have returned to his native country. Yet, looking at his calm and
passionless countenance, you could not have divined the depth of his
anguish, for in his present critical situation he did not betray the
extent of his misfortunes. He felt that he ought to set an example of
fortitude to his wife and his companions, as being the husband and
chief. Moreover, he was ready to die first for the common safety, if
circumstances should require it.
[Sidenote: CHIEFS, CIVILIZED AND UNCIVILIZED.]
His companions were worthy of him; they shared his noble thoughts, and
their calm and haughty appearance would scarcely have intimated that
they were being carried away to captivity and suffering. By common
consent, at Glenarvan's suggestion, they had resolved to feign a proud
indifference in the presence of the savages. It was the only way of
influencing those fierce natures.
[Illustration: A boat might have been seen ascending the Waikato. It
was a canoe seventy feet long and five broad.]
Since leaving the encampment, the natives, taciturn like all savages,
had scarcely spoken to each other. However, from a few words exchanged,
Glenarvan perceived that they were acquainted with the English
language. He therefore resolved to question the chief in regard to the
fate that was in store for them. Addressing Kai-Koumou, he said, in a
fearless tone:
"Where are you taking us, chief?"
Kai-Koumou gazed at him coldly without answering.
"Say, what do you expect to do with us?" continued Glenarvan.
The chief's eyes blazed with a sudden light, and in a stern voice he
replied:
"To exchange you, if your friends will ransom you; to kill you, if they
refuse."
Glenarvan asked no more, but hope returned to his heart. Doubtless,
some chiefs of the Maori tribe had fallen into the hands of the
English, and the natives would attempt to recover them by way of
exchange; their situation, therefore, was not one for despair.
Meantime the canoe rapidly ascended the river. Paganel, whose
changeable disposition carried him from one extreme to another, had
regained his hopefulness. He believed that the Maoris were sparing them
the fatigue of their journey to the English settlements, and that they
were certain to arrive at their destination. He was, therefore, quite
resigned to his lot, and traced on his map the course of the Waikato
across the plains and valleys of the province. Lady Helena and Mary
Grant, suppressing their terror, conversed in low tones with Glenarvan,
and the most skillful physiognomist could not have detected on their
faces the anxiety of their hearts.
The Waikato River is worshiped by the natives, as Paganel knew, and
English and German naturalists have never ascended beyond its junction
with the Waipa. Whither did Kai-Koumou intend to take his captives?
The geographer could not have guessed if the word "Taupo," frequently
repeated, had not attracted his attention. By consulting his map,
he saw that this name was applied to a celebrated lake in the most
mountainous part of the island, and that from it the Waikato flows.
Paganel, addressing Captain Mangles in French, so as not to be
understood by the savages, asked him how fast the canoe was going. The
captain thought about three miles an hour.
"Then," replied the geographer, "if we do not travel during the night,
our voyage to the lake will last about four days."
"But whereabouts are the English garrisons?" asked Glenarvan.
"It is difficult to say," replied Paganel. "At all events, the war
must have reached the province of Taranaki, and probably the troops
are collected beyond the mountains, on the side of the lake where the
habitations of the savages are concentrated."
"God grant it!" said Lady Helena.
Glenarvan cast a sorrowful glance at his young wife and Mary Grant,
exposed to the mercy of these fierce natives, and captives in a wild
country, far from all human assistance. But he saw that he was watched
by Kai-Koumou, and, not wishing to show that one of the captives was
his wife, he prudently kept his thoughts to himself, and gazed at the
banks of the river with apparent indifference.
[Sidenote: ACCESSIONS, AND PROGRESS.]
The sun was just sinking below the horizon as the canoe ran upon a bank
of pumice-stones, which the Waikato carries with it from its source
in the volcanic mountains. Several trees grew here, as if designed to
shelter an encampment. Kai-Koumou landed his prisoners.
The men had their hands tied, the ladies were free. All were placed
in the centre of the encampment, around which large fires formed an
impassable barrier.
Before Kai-Koumou had informed his captives of his intention to
exchange them, Glenarvan and Captain Mangles had discussed various
methods of recovering their liberty. What they could not venture in the
boat they hoped to attempt on land, at the hour for encamping, under
cover of the night.
But since Glenarvan's conversation with the chief, it seemed wise to
abandon this design. They must be patient. It was the most prudent
plan. The exchange offered chances that neither an open attack nor a
flight across these unknown regions could afford. Many circumstances
might indeed arise that would delay, and even prevent, such a
transaction; but still it was better to await the result. What,
moreover, could ten defenceless men do against thirty well-armed
savages? Besides, Glenarvan thought it likely that Kai-Koumou's tribe
had lost some chief of high rank whom they were particularly anxious to
recover; and he was not mistaken.
The next day the canoe ascended the river with increased swiftness.
It stopped for a moment at the junction of a small river which wound
across the plains on the right bank. Here another canoe, with ten
natives on board, joined Kai-Koumou. The warriors merely exchanged
salutations, and then continued their course. The new-comers had
recently fought against the English troops, as could be seen by their
tattered garments, their gory weapons, and the wounds that still bled
beneath their rags. They were gloomy and taciturn, and, with the
indifference common to all savage races, paid no attention to the
captives.
Towards evening Kai-Koumou landed at the foot of the mountains,
whose nearer ridges reached precipitously to the river-bank. Here
twenty natives, who had disembarked from their canoes, were making
preparations for the night. Fires blazed beneath the trees. A chief,
equal in rank to Kai-Koumou, advanced with measured pace, and, rubbing
his nose against that of the latter, saluted him cordially. The
prisoners were stationed in the centre of the encampment, and guarded
with extreme vigilance.
The next morning the ascent of the Waikato was resumed. Other boats
came from various affluents of the river. Sixty warriors, evidently
fugitives from the last insurrection, had now assembled, and were
returning, more or less wounded in the fray, to the mountain districts.
Sometimes a song arose from the canoes, as they advanced in single
file. One native struck up the patriotic ode of the mysterious "Pihé,"
the national hymn that calls the Maoris to battle. The full and
sonorous voice of the singer waked the echoes of the mountains; and
after each stanza his comrades struck their breasts, and sang the
warlike verses in chorus. Then they seized their oars again, and the
canoes were headed up stream.
During the day a singular sight enlivened the voyage. About four
o'clock the canoe, without lessening its speed, guided by the steady
hand of the chief, dashed through a narrow gorge. Eddies broke
violently against numerous small islands, which rendered navigation
exceeding dangerous. Never could it be more hazardous to capsize, for
the banks afforded no refuge, and whoever had set foot on the porous
crust of the shore would probably have perished. At this point the
river flowed between warm springs, oxide of iron colored the muddy
ground a brilliant red, and not a yard of firm earth could be seen.
The air was heavy with a penetrating sulphureous odor. The natives did
not regard it, but the captives were seriously annoyed by the noxious
vapors exhaled from the fissures of the soil and the bubbles that
burst and discharged their gaseous contents. Yet, however disagreeable
these emanations were, the eye could not but admire this magnificent
spectacle.
[Illustration: At this point the river flowed between warm springs, and
not a yard of firm earth could be seen.]
The canoes soon after entered a dense cloud of white smoke, whose
wreaths rose in gradually decreasing circles above the river. On the
shores a hundred geysers, some shooting forth masses of vapor, and
others overflowing in liquid columns, varied their effects, like the
jets and cascades of a fountain. It seemed as though some engineer was
directing at his pleasure the outflowings of these springs, as the
waters and vapor, mingling in the air, formed rainbows in the sunbeams.
For two miles the canoes glided within this vapory atmosphere,
enveloped in its warm waves that rolled along the surface of the water.
Then the sulphureous smoke disappeared, and a pure swift current of
fresh air refreshed the panting voyagers. The region of the springs was
passed. Before the close of the day two more rapids were ascended, and
at evening Kai-Koumou encamped a hundred miles above the junction of
the two streams. The river now turned towards the east, and then again
flowed southward into Lake Taupo.
The next morning Jacques Paganel consulted his map and discovered
on the right bank Mount Taubara, which rises to the height of three
thousand feet. At noon the whole fleet of boats entered Lake Taupo, and
the natives hailed with frantic gestures a shred of cloth that waved in
the wind from the roof of a hut. It was the national flag.