STORM SIGNALS
Valuable as he knew the greenstone _mere_ to be, both intrinsically
and on account of its romantic history, it was with a new and deeper
interest that George regarded it at the conclusion of Te Kaihuia's
legend of its origin. Of course the story of its supernatural
appearance and manufacture was a fairy-tale which--he gave an
unmistakable start, and a grim smile curled the thin lips of the old
Maori, who was watching him intently.
There, on the narrow end, or handle, of the club were three deeply
set impressions, which exactly resembled the imprint of two fingers
and a thumb.
The mineral nephrite, or greenstone, is singularly hard and
unyielding, and how these peculiar marks came to be made upon the
club George concluded to leave to the antiquaries to solve; for,
needless to say, the old chief's version of their cause counted for
nothing with him. But he was far too courteous to allow his
incredulity to appear before the venerable narrator, whom he warmly
thanked as he rose to take his leave.
Te Kaihuia took the young fellow's strong hand in both his own.
'I have yet a word for you, Hortoni,' he said gravely. 'Never allow
the _mere_ to be far from your hand. Danger lurks we know not where.
Hear now my word.'
Wondering whether the old man's mysteriously given advice held a
covert warning of impending trouble, George went below and locked the
greenstone club in a sea-chest which the dead captain had lent him.
Moreover, he determined to wear the weapon during his night-watches
on deck, in case of treachery such as his aged friend had seemed
vaguely to hint at.
Trouble, indeed, was nearer than he thought; but it was not to
come--in the first instance, at all events--from Te Karearea and his
Maoris.
Late that night as George swung in his hammock, he was awakened by
something jolting against his body, and, peering drowsily over the
edge, saw a line of dark figures stealing cautiously up the ladder.
In a flash he leaped lightly to the floor and collared the hindmost
of the procession.
'You, Bigham!' he exclaimed as the fo'c'sle lamp illumined the face
of his captive. 'How comes the leader of the mutiny to bring up the
rear?'
Bigham gave himself away at once. 'We knew you wouldn't approve,' he
whispered, 'so we thought we'd surprise you when the thing was done.'
George flew into one of his rare rages. 'You ass! It will be a
mercy if one of us is left alive when the thing is done. Call back
the men. Quick! There is no time to lose.'
But Bigham's Lancashire obstinacy resented this interference, and
with a sudden twist he darted on deck, saying huskily, 'Let them
laugh as win.'
Slipping on his trousers, George made all haste after him, but the
night was so dark that he could not make out the stations of the
conspirators. Neither could he hear the soft pad, pad of the
bare-footed sentries.
'Curious if the guards have been withdrawn on this night of all
others,' he mused. 'If I don't encounter our men in another minute,
I'll shout and rouse the ship. Better Bigham's wrath than the
slaughter which is sure to follow this senseless provocation of a
friendly foe.'
Fearful of delay and its bitter consequences, he drew in his breath
for a shout, when, sudden as a lightning flash, a column of fire shot
into the air, illumining the black recesses of the brig. And, as it
flared, the quiet night was shaken by an appalling yell, shouts and
oaths, the tramp and shuffle of naked feet, the sound of shots and
heavy blows, all horribly mixed with screams of rage and hate.
'It is all up!' muttered George, filled with resentment against the
stupid mate. 'The rising is none of my doing; but parole or no
parole, I can't stand by and see white men done to death by Maori
criminals.' He raised his voice to a shout. 'Bigham! Call to me!'
No answer! Then out of the gloom a tall figure leaped at him with
uplifted arm and smote strongly downwards.
George had neither heard nor seen the Maori's approach, though he
actually turned at that moment as if to face the threatening danger.
The first thing of which he was really conscious was the sound of a
blow and the jarring shock which ran from his fingers to his
shoulder. Then to his amazement a stalwart Maori fell with a thud
and lay dead or badly wounded at his feet.
Experience has shown that, during the excitement bred of extreme
peril, one may perform many actions by instinct, or, at least, that
one's conscious intelligence does not appear to be fully at work.
And now so stupefied was George at the sequence of events, that he
stood staring down at the body of the Maori without the slightest
comprehension of what had happened.
The light of the fire flared towards him, illumining the thing he
held in his hand. It was a greenstone club--his own; for he could
distinctly see the odd markings upon it.
How was this? he asked himself. Was it possible that Te Kaihuia's
story--Oh, nonsense! ... Still, how came the _mere_ to his hand? He
had locked it away in his sea-chest.... He had never thought of it
when he rushed on deck at the heels of Bigham.... What could it mean?
Thoughts are lightning quick, and but little time passed, as George
stood fixed and immovable beside the prostrate Maori, before another
tall form loomed suddenly out of the dark, and a familiar voice said
in Maori: 'Salutations, O friend! The fight is begun. Let the wise
look on while the fools strive with one another.'
'Come and help me stop the conflict,' began George, when Te Karearea,
catching sight of the still form, interrupted sternly: 'What is this,
Hortoni? Had I not your promise? Wherefore have you slain my young
man?'
'I--I hope he is not dead,' stammered George. 'I suppose I struck
him, but--oh, I dare say you won't believe me, Chief; but I knew
nothing of this foolish affair until a few minutes ago, and I did my
best to stop it.'
Te Karearea drew a lantern from the folds of his mat, held it up, and
looked keenly into George's eyes. Then all at once his haughty glare
gave place to a look of abject terror. 'W-w-what is that in your
hand, Hortoni?' he asked, in a voice vibrating with intense feeling.
'The club? It is a present which Te Kaihuia gave me after I pulled
him out of the water. He--why, what's the matter?'
For Te Karearea, in what appeared to be mortal affright, reeled
backwards to the bulwarks, and only saved himself from a heavy fall
by clinging to the rail. 'The _mere_! The _mere_ of TUMATAUENGA!'
he shrieked, in a voice so shrill that it rose above the lessening
din of conflict.
George was growing confused amid the maze of events through which he
was threading his way, but the incongruity of the position struck him
even then. Only a few yards distant strife was raging, bullets
actually sang over their heads, and yet there they stood, discussing
other matters, as if nothing out of the common were happening. There
was, however, an explanation of Te Karearea's unconcern with the
fight, which George did not receive till later.
All that had occurred since he came on deck occupied far less time
than has been required to write of it; nevertheless, he was growing
anxious about the fate of Bigham and the crew. So, pointing aft,
where the struggle waned to a close, he said: 'While we talk here, O
Chief, blood is flowing over there. It is time to stop the mischief.'
'The blood of the Pakehas is upon their own heads, Hortoni,' retorted
Te Karearea, who had recovered his equanimity, and now slowly
sauntered after George towards the scene of the fray.
As they came up, Bigham, who was unhurt, greeted George with words of
scorn. 'There you are, Mr. Haughton, with your brown friend, safe
enough, I dare say. I hope you like your position. Had you joined
us, things might have been different.'
'They would, indeed!' A voice close to George just breathed the
words.
'Did you speak, Chief?' he asked sharply.
'Nay; I said nought, Hortoni,' was the smooth answer.
'Of course he would deny it,' thought George. 'What was his meaning,
I wonder.' He turned to Bigham. 'I gave you fair warning that I
would take no part in your wild schemes. However, we can discuss
later your grievance against me. How many of your men are hurt?'
Another surprise, but this time an agreeable one. It was Te Karearea
who replied: 'None, Hortoni. I had knowledge of Big Man's plot--it
matters not how.' George thought that he knew. 'I gave orders,
therefore, that at a certain moment every Pakeha on deck should be
secured--save only yourself,' with a courteous bow. 'So Big Man and
those with him walked into my trap which I had set, and my young men
have done as I bade them--all save the stupid Paeroa, who blundered
up against you, and--and--the _mere_ of TUMATAUENGA smote him.'
There was a tremulous note in his voice, and he glanced furtively
over his shoulder, while his lips moved as he muttered something
beneath his breath.
At their chief's last words the Maoris huddled together in awed
surprise, and some of them followed his example and murmured a
karakia, or charm, to keep off invisible powers.
Again George was puzzled. What was the matter with every one
to-night? At the same time he was greatly relieved; but, not wishing
to show his satisfaction too plainly, rallied the chief upon his
manifest trepidation.
'Since there are no dead men, why do you mutter a _karakia_, O Hawk
of the Mountain?' he said. 'Are you afraid that _Taniwha_ will come
out of the sea and----'
He broke off in amazement, for Te Karearea's teeth were chattering
and his eyes rolling wildly. Evidently he was under the dominion of
some fearful emotion. Thrice he essayed to speak and thrice failed,
while the Maoris, comprehending nothing but the one awesome word, and
perceiving, as they thought, its effect upon their leader, shrank
away, quaking with dread and muttering, '_Taniwha! Taniwha!_' in
terror of what might happen even now.
In the light of the dying flare Bigham caught George's eye. His look
plainly said: 'You have thrown these fellows into such a mortal funk
by something you have said, that, at a sign from you, the crew will
take heart and sweep the whole lot into the sea before they know
where they are.'
Something like this George read in the mate's expression, and for one
instant he hesitated. Was he indeed bound to keep a parole given
under such circumstances? And then the deeply rooted principles,
early implanted, asserted themselves. The word of a gentleman, once
passed, even to a 'darned nigger,' must be sacred. With an almost
imperceptible shake of the head at Bigham, he turned again to Te
Karearea, whose composure was by this time restored, and demanded his
intentions with regard to the twice-taken prisoners.
Te Karearea, with his head turned aside, laughed shortly and waved
his hand with a gesture implying that the behaviour of a few foolish
Pakehas was unworthy of his serious consideration, and his men, quick
to understand him, released their hold of the dejected sailors and
allowed them to make their way below.
Truly no great harm had been done in the scuffle, save for a broken
head or two; for the mate and his men, unarmed as they were--even
their jack-knives had been taken from them--had relied upon the shock
of surprise to drive the Maori guards below and batten them under
hatches, among the mass of sleepers.
Even chance could hardly have favoured so stupid a plan, and, had it
not been for Te Karearea's foreknowledge of the time of the attack,
the white men must have fared ill in the struggle. As it was, the
Maoris had obeyed orders, and contented themselves with overpowering
their prisoners, while for greater moral effect they discharged their
guns in the air--to the infinite danger of George and Te Karearea,
past whom the leaden missiles sang spitefully during their
conversation in the waist.
Feeling that he could do no less, George now sought a fitting
compliment upon the generous clemency of the chief; but, as the
latter faced him, there was something so sinister in the whole aspect
of the man, so basilisk-like was the stare of the stony and, for
once, unwinking eyes, that the young Englishman thrilled with the
conviction that beneath this seeming forbearance lurked an
unsatisfied hate, which would presently demand a sterner, because
belated, vengeance.
He now felt sure that Te Karearea had only held his hand from a
general massacre from interested motives, and knew that he would not
be able to breathe freely until the Maoris had been set on shore and
gone their way into the interior.
Determined to warn Bigham, George sought out the mate next morning,
and to his annoyance found him already engaged in entertaining the
chief with the few words of Maori he had at command. These he eked
out by the free use of English, which he seemed to think was certain
to be understood, provided that each word was delivered in a
stentorian bellow.
Te Karearea greeted George very civilly, and smilingly claimed his
services as interpreter. Presently he inquired, carelessly enough,
what the mate intended to do after setting him and his Maoris ashore.
George put this question with the greatest reluctance to the
thick-skulled Bigham, who replied with genial truculence that not
only would he raise the countryside in pursuit, but would take a hand
in it himself, just for the pleasure of having a smack at the 'brown
beast,' as he styled the dignified chief.
George toned down this senseless bombast as far as he could, but the
ill-suppressed sneer upon Te Karearea's thin lips convinced him that
the latter perfectly understood all that the mate had so absurdly
threatened. However, the chief laughed heartily, and, when George at
last got Bigham away from him, the mate would listen to no suggestion
of a disguised ill-will. But he promised to abstain from further
plotting, and from this George extracted such comfort as he could.
Towards evening George paid a visit to the man whom he had so
mysteriously felled the night before, and who was reported to be
doing well. He still carried the greenstone club in his belt, and
when he entered the deck-house--which had been converted into a
sick-bay--found Paeroa with a bandaged head and looking ill and
weary, but with a fire in his eye which argued deep resentment.
But to the Englishman's amazement, no sooner had he crossed the
threshold, than Paeroa clasped his hand in both his own, sank upon
one knee, and poured out a torrent of musically sounding words.
'Hortoni, beloved of the gods, master of the _mere_ of TUMATAUENGA,'
he said, 'Te Kaihuia has spoken with me and has given me a word. O
great one, who callest up the wind at will, I thank thee for my life;
for surely hadst thou struck to slay, I had been slain.'
'Stop! What are you saying?' interjected George, but Paeroa's speech
flowed on.
'Behold now, Hortoni, because thou heldest back the strong arm of
TUMATAUENGA, I will follow thee. Whithersoever thou goest, be it
over the mountain or along the plain, through the deep forest or in
the green meadows, over the land or across the sea, whether there be
peace, or whether there be war, I am thy man, and I will follow thee.
Hear now the word which Paeroa has spoken.'
George was wonderstruck, and, though far from understanding the
motives which moved the Maori to this extraordinary act of
self-abasement, was touched by the poor fellow's sincerity and by his
devotion to one who, however unwittingly, had done him serious
injury. He knew that it would be utterly useless to try to disabuse
the man of the belief that he had held back some potent force from
destroying him, so, smiling in his peculiarly engaging way upon the
young Maori, he replied:
'O Paeroa, I thank you. When you get ashore, you must leave the
rascals by whom you are surrounded, rejoin your tribe, and try to
keep out of trouble for the future.'
This speech sounded like bathos after the high-sounding periods in
which the Maori had addressed him, but Paeroa's sole reply was: 'I
have spoken, Hortoni'; whereupon George, a good deal embarrassed,
wished him a speedy recovery and rather hurriedly took his leave.
Young Haughton was by no means too credulous, and with regard to the
incident of the previous night had come to the matter-of-fact
conclusion that he must have unlocked his chest and withdrawn the
greenstone club without, in his excitement, noticing what he was
about. Yet he very clearly recognised the powerful influence which
the tradition of its origin would exert upon the superstitious
Maoris, and he determined to wear it continually during the short
remainder of his association with them.
As he was pacing the deck after his interview with Paeroa, Te
Karearea approached him, and with a grave salute requested permission
to speak with him upon a matter of importance.
The chief lost no time in coming to the point. For an instant, as
his eyes fell upon the greenstone club, the same extraordinary change
passed over his face as on the previous day; but he speedily
recovered himself, and in tense, vibrating tones began:
'I have a word for you, O Hortoni!'
'Say it, friend,' answered George laconically.
'There are no lies under my tongue, and my heart is clean,' pursued
the chief. 'Ha! I am not as the Pakehas, in whom is nought but
guile. I except you, my friend.'
George bowed.
'I will swallow the Pakehas as the sea swallows the little pebbles
upon the shore,' went on the chief. 'War shall there be round about
the land until the last of the accursed race be driven into _Moana_
(ocean); for God is with me and with them whose priest I am, and His
strength shall dwell in our arms until we make an end of slaying
because there is no longer a Pakeha to be slain.'
His voice rolled and swelled into a chant as the soft gutturals
poured out, an impetuous flood, and as he paused, glaring at George,
his deep-set eyes flashed, and the expression upon his scarred face
was very grim.
'To what end do you speak thus to me, O Chief?' inquired George.
'To this end, Hortoni,' cried the Maori. 'Cast off the accursed race
to whom you have belonged till now, and come in among us! Be my
Pakeha and the Pakeha of my _hapu_ (tribe). So shall we be honoured,
and we will honour you and give you a Maori _wahine_ (woman) to wife.
Land without measure shall be yours, and you shall dwell among us as
a great chief in power and peace, until they come to carry you to
Reinga. This is my word to you, O Hortoni!'
'And hear you my word, O insulter of a strong race!' cried George
indignantly. 'Who you are I know not, nor whose priest you claim to
be. But this I know, O fool! The Pakeha is an eagle upon a mountain
peak, and the eagle shall swoop upon the hawk and clutch it in his
mighty talons and rend it into little pieces, which shall be
scattered to the north and to the south and to the east and to the
west. So shall there be an end of the stupid hawk. This is my word
to you, O Te Karearea!'
The rage which laid hold of Te Karearea at this uncompromising
rejection of his singular proposal was so clearly exhibited, that
George stepped back a pace and suggestively dropped his hand upon his
greenstone club. The chief shrank back at once, controlled his wrath
by a mighty effort, and stalked away, sending over his shoulder a
Parthian shaft in the words:
'You may yet dwell many days in my _hapu_, Hortoni, before you call
the eagle to rend the hawk.'
He had no sooner disappeared than George took himself severely to
task for having so completely lost his temper. He knew that not a
few Maori chiefs had induced white men--not of the best sort--to
attach themselves to their respective tribes and to become Maoris in
all but colour. Of such degenerate whites--Pakeha Maoris they were
called[1]--the possessors were egregiously proud, and great were the
airs they assumed over their less fortunate brethren. A proposal of
this sort to a man of George Haughton's type was so utterly absurd,
that it might well have been passed over with contempt, instead of
having been met with windy words of wrath. As for Te Karearea's own
anger, that did not trouble George in the least.
[1] Their influence was not always wholly bad.
His meditations were cut short by the arrival of a Maori, who
informed him in picturesque language, that the feet of those who
waited to carry Te Kaihuia to Reinga were without the old man's door,
and that the aged chief had sent to beg Hortoni to come to him at
once, as he had a word for him before he himself departed for the
abode of the shades.
Greatly shocked at this totally unexpected news, George hastened to
the spot where lay the withered form of the venerable chief, who was
travelling fast towards the valley of the great shadow.
'O my poor old friend, I am grieved to see you like this!' cried
George. 'What is the matter? You were not ill this morning.'
The dying chief gasped once or twice and by an effort raised his hand
and pointed, while he mumbled half-articulate words which smote the
listener with sudden, sickening horror. For they made it plain that
the old man had been done to death, partly because his age and
weakness would have rendered him a burden to the rest of the band on
their march through the bush.
'Ah, who has done this dastardly thing?' raged George, angered out of
himself at the cruel indifference to suffering which could so coldly
rid itself of probable embarrassment.
Te Kaihuia's attenuated body writhed under the agony of the poison,
and he stared, glassy-eyed, at George.
'Be-ware,' he gasped. 'Be-ware--Te ... Beware--the--Hau----'
The quivering jaw dropped, the palsied head fell back. Old Te
Kaihuia had gone down to Reinga with his warning word unspoken.
'Thank heaven, we shall make land, and all this horror will be over
by to-morrow night at latest,' George said gloomily to himself, as he
crawled into his hammock an hour or so after poor old Te Kaihuia's
remains had been dropped overboard. 'The loathsome cruelty of
poisoning the harmless old creature because he was likely to be in
their way! I can't believe that Te Karearea had any hand in the
shameful business. The chief is high-minded in his way. Yet--oh,
what devils men can be! ... What was it, I wonder, against which the
poor old fellow wished to warn me?' He fell asleep still wondering.
He awoke with a start. Midnight was just past, and upon everything
lay a great silence, faintly broken by the soft lap of the sea
against the timbers of the brig as she sped on towards the land
and--safety? No other sound was audible in the profound peace of the
night, and yet George was certain that something had startled his
sleep and awakened him. He sat up cautiously and listened, holding
his breath. Nothing!
Then with frightful suddenness the solemn stillness was stirred by a
sound--a sound discordant, shrill, horrible; a sound which pierced
the heart of the watcher in the night, chilling his blood, so that,
for all his strength and hardihood, he shook and shivered as he heard
the hideous tones, inhuman yet resonant of human sadness and hate and
fury; appalling in their horror. And as George sat quaking in his
hammock, the weird noises, only half articulate, crashed again
through the stillness, stunning his affrighted ears.
What was that strange, revolting, heart-sickening noise? What was
it? Like the howling of a pack of wild dogs, where no dogs could be.
Like the shrieking and sobbing of men in dire agony--yet what human
throat ever emitted such sounds? Like the hoots and jeers of
gibbering maniacs. Like none of these alone. Like all of them
together. What human ear was ever forced to listen to such inhuman
sounds? And at such an hour, too! What were they?
By an immense effort George got to the floor. Bigham was muttering
fearfully in his hammock, two of the men were sobbing with fright,
and one prayed brokenly, his scattered wits recalling fragments of
the simple petitions of his childhood. Over all there hung the
shadow of the same awful terror.
Once more that horrible wailing swept down from above.
'Bigham, I can't stand this,' said George in a harsh whisper. 'I am
going on deck to find out what it means.'
The mate only groaned. Then manhood reasserting its grip, 'Don't go,
Mr. Haughton,' he implored. 'The devil, I think, is let loose up
there. Come back, sir, for God's sake!'
But George was already half-way up the ladder. Unless he took this
thing on the rush, he felt that he would have no nerve to face it at
all. He reached the companion, held back an instant while he fetched
a deep breath, and then sprang into the open.
Not a soul was to be seen. A lantern or two shed a faint glimmering
light, the helm was lashed, the deck empty of life.
With a gasp of horror George turned and raced back to the shelter of
the fo'c'sle.