THE GRATITUDE OF TE KAIHUIA
For the first few days the voyage was uneventful, and the Maoris,
revelling in the freedom which the courage and skill of their leader
had won for them, behaved like a parcel of children unexpectedly let
loose from school. Te Karearea himself devoted a good deal of time
to the conciliation of the young Englishman, with whom he would often
engage in conversation with a charm of manner which was hard to
resist. Invariably, too, he bewailed his inability to converse in
the Pakeha tongue, though he admitted that he had mastered a few
words which served him well enough upon unimportant occasions.
Nevertheless, one night when Bigham--who was for ever whispering
among the men after dark--dismissed three of his cronies after a
muttered colloquy, the dark form of the chief rose from the lifeboat,
beneath which the meeting had taken place. He looked cautiously
about him, and then, seeing no one but his own guards, who patrolled
the deck night and day, leaped lightly down and stole away.
But George had observed him, and deliberated whether he should warn
Bigham. Finally, however, he decided to wait, feeling confident that
the mate would not take any important step without consulting him, in
which case he would be in a better position to protest against any
foolhardy venture.
The days wore on, the light winds growing lighter and lighter, until
at length there fell a dead calm; the _Stella_ floated idly upon the
vast bosom of the sea, and the lively chatter of the Maoris gave way
to gloomy silence, while their scarred faces scowled, and their
fierce brown eyes flashed wrath at the white sailors, as if they
alone were responsible for the vagaries of the weather.
One afternoon--it was the third day of the calm--as George swung
drowsily in his hammock, he was aroused by a shrill scream and the
patter of feet along the deck. Again the scream rang out, high and
quavering, and presently was drowned by a deep-toned chant, chorussed
by a hundred rich male voices which rose and fell in unison.
'They are propitiating the wind-god, I suppose,' mused George,
feeling too lazy to get up and find out. 'Yesterday they threw their
greenstone ornaments overboard; but it did no good. What children
they are for all their strength and--Hullo! Good heavens!'
He sat suddenly upright, with the result that he pitched out of his
hammock with a nasty bump; but he was up in a second, and as he raced
up the forehatch, the words of the chant came clearly to his
horrified ears:
'... Come, then, Te Kaihuia, old friend!
Come, O thou ancient and venerable Palm Tree!
Come, beloved uncle, and be sacrificed straightway!
The deep sea waits for thee;
For us wait the gentle, favouring winds
To bear us home. So come....'
The Maoris were grouped in a double crescent, the horns touching the
starboard gangway, beside which stood Te Karearea, wearing the
complacent expression of a man who generously sacrifices a most
cherished possession for the good of the public. Opposite to him two
big Maoris bent over a very old and withered creature, whom, with
many expressions of endearment, they were encouraging to take a
header into the sea.
The old man--the 'ancient Palm Tree' of the chant--was Te Kaihuia, an
uncle of Te Karearea, and since the sacrifice of the greenstone
ornaments had not availed to propitiate the god of winds and storms,
the chief had graciously given permission for his aged relative to be
thrown into the sea. Meanwhile the singers, at the top of their
lusty voices, asserted the cheerful acquiescence of the victim.
But the poor old man was not willing, and his heartrending appeal for
mercy so moved George that he roughly pushed his way through a group
of grinning seamen, sharply chiding them for their cruel
indifference, and walked straight up to the chief.
'What is this, O Te Karearea?' he demanded haughtily. 'Why do you
allow your young men to maltreat old Te Kaihuia? Whatever your
followers may believe, you know well enough that to murder an old man
for the sake of getting a breeze is a piece of stupid cruelty.'
In his excitement he had spoken in English; but the amused gleam in
the chief's eyes assured him that he had been understood, so without
a pause he went on in Maori: 'Let him live, my friend, and I promise
you the wind before evening.'
Te Karearea started and stared hard at George, who had, of course,
spoken impulsively, and looked rather foolish when pressed for an
explanation; whereupon the chief's lips curled in a cynical smile,
and he made a covert sign to the men who were holding his ancient
relative.
Alert to catch the signal, they swung up the old fellow and, before
George could turn, flung him far out into the sea, where, with that
curious instinct which seems to attract them whenever death is in the
air, several sharks were already gathered, their triangular dorsal
fins moving ceaselessly to and fro as they waited, expectant, for
their prey.
But, even as the old man vanished over the side, George burst through
the crescent and took a running jump into the sea. So swift was his
action that the noise of the two bodies striking the water came to
the ears of those on board as one great splash, and as the crew of
the brig, now thoroughly ashamed of themselves, cheered
enthusiastically, George appeared above the surface, holding the old
Maori in the loop of one arm, while with the other he struck out
vigorously.
Quick as thought, Te Karearea seized a rifle from the nearest armed
guard and fired at a black fin which drove swiftly in the wake of the
swimmer. The ball went home, and in an instant the sea was dyed red,
as the rapacious sharks tore in pieces the body of their late ally.
But for this timely intervention a frightful tragedy must have been
enacted; but, as it was, while the guards at a word from their chief
directed a terrific fusillade at the sharks, Bigham cast a rope to
George, who was hauled up not much the worse for his dive, while the
air rang with the hurrahs of the crew.
The ancient gentleman was handed over the side in a very limp
condition, and borne away to be dried and ironed, as it were, while
George, with an ugly scowl at Te Karearea, who came up all smiles and
compliments, hurried below to change his clothes.
Singularly enough, shortly after this exciting episode the smiling
azure of the sea began to darken, and as the shadow crept nearer, and
Neptune's white horses left their stables in the deep and galloped
upon the crests of the waves, a light breeze began to tickle the
cheeks of the sails and to hum among the cordage; so that presently
the bo'sun's cheerful pipe shrilled along the deck, and the sailors,
bounding aloft or hauling upon the sheets, soon made all snug for the
run.
The amazement of the Maoris, who had overheard and jeered at George's
promise to their chief, may be imagined, and the venturesome
prophet's reputation was then and there established among them.
Whatever he thought of the matter, Te Karearea kept his opinion to
himself, and, waving aside those who would have babbled of it,
wrapped himself in his mat and paced the deck in grave meditation.
When George had changed into a blue pilot-cloth suit, which had
belonged to Captain Varsall, he hurried on deck to look for old Te
Kaihuia, whom he found reclining upon a mat in a sunny corner.
'A narrow escape, O venerable friend!' began the young man, smiling
down upon the shrivelled figure. 'You have looked through the gates
of Reinga.'
The old Maori smiled back into the frank, good-tempered face, and
motioning George to a mat beside him, intimated his desire to perform
the _hongi_, or pressing together of noses, to which George submitted
with a good grace and, when the ceremony was over, prepared to
withdraw. But the old man begged him to remain, as he had something
further to say.
With the greatest gravity Te Kaihuia drew a parcel from beneath his
mat, and with trembling fingers unrolled the half-dozen layers of
native cloth which formed the wrapping. Then with an air of
reverence almost amounting to awe, he drew out a greenstone
_mere_,[1] or club, of most perfect shape and colour, which he held
up to the admiring gaze of the Englishman.
[1] Pronounced almost as the English word 'merry.'
'What a beautiful--what a magnificent piece of greenstone!' exclaimed
George in genuine delight. Then, as Te Kaihuia regarded the weapon
with a look of mingled veneration and affection: 'Is it an
heirloom--the _mere_ of your ancestors?'
'You are right, Hortoni,' replied the veteran. 'Far back in the
misty past, approaching the time when the Maori first set foot in Te
Ika A Maui,[2] this _mere_ belonged, according to tradition, to my
ancestor, Te Turi.[3] After him, it was handed down from father to
son through many generations.'
[2] The north island of New Zealand. Literally, 'The Fish of Maui.'
[3] Maori names were frequently bestowed on account of physical or
mental peculiarities, or of real or fancied resemblance to natural
objects. Te Turi means The Obstinate, or Stubborn, One.
'Then your ancestor, Te Turi, was one of the earliest settlers in New
Zealand?'
'He was, Hortoni, having come with Ngahue from Hawaiki.'[4]
[4] According to tradition, Ngahue was the Maori discoverer of New
Zealand, arriving from a mythical island, Hawaiki.
George took up the club and examined it. He had seen many a piece of
greenstone before, both in the rough and fashioned into ornaments and
weapons; but never had he seen anything so beautiful as this _mere_.
Its shape was perfect, and not only was the rich green mineral nearly
as transparent as glass, but all through its substance ran the most
exquisite veining and traceries, resembling fern-fronds, flowers,
miniature trees, and even birds and fishes. 'It is a most beautiful
object,' he said, handing it back. 'Your ancestor must have had
wonderful pride in his workmanship.'
Te Kaihuia cast an apprehensive glance around; then whispered almost
inaudibly: 'The _mere_ was bestowed upon Te Turi. He did not make
it.'
'Well, who gave it to him?' inquired George, amused at the
goblin-like aspect of the old creature.
With another timid look above and around, Te Kaihuia whispered again
with thrilling emphasis: 'It was made by Tumatauenga, the god of war,
and he bestowed it upon Te Turi.'
'Ah! then I am not surprised you set such store by it,' said George,
careful to suppress the smile which would have hurt the old man's
feelings. 'Such a beautiful piece of work deserves to have a
romantic history.'
But he was destined to be surprised after all, for the aged Maori,
balancing the club in his worn hands, said impressively: 'You, too,
must set great store by it, Hortoni, for it is the gift of a god, and
has marvellous powers. O brave young friend, who thought the remnant
of an old man's life worth the risk of your own, stretch forth your
hand and receive this gift from me. Treasure it, my son, for it is
yours.'
'_Mine!_' echoed George, supremely astonished. '_Mine!_ Oh no, Te
Kaihuia, this must not be. I will not take so valuable an heirloom
from you.'
'It is mine to give,' persisted the hoary chief. 'Descendants I have
none. There is but my sister's son, Te Karearea, and rather than
that he should inherit it, I would fling it into the sea. And this I
swear I will do, Hortoni, if you take not the _mere_ as a gift.' He
gently pressed the club upon George, who took it with the greatest
reluctance.
'Hearken, Hortoni,' the old man went on. 'There is much virtue in
this _mere_, and some day, perhaps ere long, you shall rejoice that
it is yours. Take it, my son, and with it an old man's blessing for
that your stout heart and strong arm succoured him in his extremity.'
The superstitious veneration in which the Maoris held the greenstone,
and their devotion to family relics, were well known to George; but
when he realised that the old chief was sincere in his intention to
destroy the heirloom rather than allow it to pass into other hands
than his own, he made suitable acknowledgments, and thrust the
beautiful weapon into that division of his belt which had once
contained his revolver.
His point gained, old Te Kaihuia seemed highly delighted, and rubbed
his lean hands together, grinning and chattering to himself. Finally
he calmed down, and with a sly glance at George, said coaxingly: 'If
you are not tired of an old man's tale, Hortoni, perhaps you would
like to hear the history of the _mere_ which has now become your own.'
'I should, indeed,' answered George, who had been wondering whether
he might ask this very favour without giving offence or intruding
upon family secrets.
Te Kaihuia looked pleased, settled himself upon his mats, coughed
once or twice after the manner of an orator about to address an
audience, and then, after a false start or two, unfolded to the
interested listener the following singular history.