IN THE FLAX SWAMP
Loth as George was to yield to the superstitious feeling which the
coincidences in connection with the greenstone club invariably
engendered, he was almost stupefied at its reappearance at the
present juncture. Yet there was nothing supernatural about it. He
had jumped into the ditch almost at the exact point at which the
_mere_ had dropped from his belt, and had naturally stumbled upon it.
He was too well balanced to remain long under the spell of the
occurrence, and with a sigh of thankfulness picked up the club,
stripped the mat from the shoulders of the unconscious Maori, and
ran, light-footed, in the direction of the upper bridge. Before he
had gone twenty yards he bounced into a number of Maoris hurrying
towards the same spot.
'Have you caught them?' he said thickly, congratulating himself that
the darkness and the mat about his shoulders would prevent immediate
recognition.
'_No hea?_' grumbled a Hau-hau. The words, meaning literally 'from
whence?' imply in Maori phraseology that the thing inquired for is
nowhere. It was an admission that the superstitious fellows did not
expect to retake the fugitives.
'Hortoni, indeed, is under the protection of TUMATAUENGA,' growled
another. 'Else would the Hawk have slain him ere now.'
'But Hortoni has lost the _mere_--so they say,' returned George,
quickening his pace a little, so as to pass the talkative Maori.
'_Na!_ the _mere_ of TUMATAUENGA cannot be lost,' a third observed
sententiously as George drew ahead of him. 'By this time Hortoni
again wears it by his side. _Ehara!_ It is extraordinary, and I do
not know why ATUA should favour a Pakeha. But so it is. _Ea!_' he
grunted disgustedly. 'In my opinion Hortoni is a god. Who can
prevail against a god?'
The first part of this speech was so true that George felt once more
that curious thrill which had so often affected him when the
greenstone club was in question. The last part shocked him and,
forgetful of his assumed character, he impetuously contradicted the
astounded speaker.
'Fool! I am no god,' he cried. 'There is but one God, the God of
the Pakehas, and He----'
The next moment he was flying for his life across the tree bridge and
down the hill, while the Maoris, ignoring in their turn his presumed
divinity, scampered after him, their yells blending with the shouts
of those who had already reached the plain.
Stumbling and slipping, George dashed along the track, bruising
himself badly against a hundred obstacles, but grimly silent lest by
any outcry he should drag his friends back into danger. Far behind
him he could hear the voice of the arch-liar Te Karearea calling to
him that the greenstone club had been found, and that all would be
well if he would return. Once he collided with a Hau-hau who rose
suddenly from behind a boulder; but his ready wit saved him, and the
two ran side by side to the bottom of the hill, where George branched
off to the right.
'Go that way, my friend, and I will go this,' he cried. 'We will
meet at the bridge and scoop in the Pakehas as with a net.'
He spoke loudly now, confident that his friends were safe, and hoping
thus to convey to them the assurance of his own escape.
Just then the cry of the _weka_ arose almost under his feet, and
George thought for a moment that he had disturbed a real bird, so
natural was the startled note. The next, he remembered the signal
they had agreed upon in case of separation, answered it, and
instantly felt his arm grasped by some one who rose apparently out of
the ground beside him.
'_He! He!_' Paeroa's voice sounded the note of caution and alarm.
'This way, Hortoni. Into the flax. Quick!'
Hard upon his brown friend's heels followed George, treading
cautiously upon the rough track of _manuka_[1] which ran more or less
interruptedly across the swampy ground in which the flax-bushes
flourished. More than once his foot encountered bubbling ooze and
slime; but Paeroa's hand was ever ready to help him over these gaps,
and for a hundred yards or so they went along without serious mishap.
Then the shouts and cries which came from scattered points about the
plain seemed to concentrate in one long yell of triumph, a noisy
hubbub arose at the point where the _manuka_ pathway began, and a
spattering volley followed them as they stumbled forward.
[1] _Leptospermum scoparium._
'They are after us,' panted George, swerving involuntarily as a
bullet smacked into a flax-bush a few inches from him; but Paeroa
whispered a hurried instruction and, even as another small hail of
balls whimpered past, they leaped from the track into the heart of a
flax-bush, thence into the midst of a second, out of that into a
third, where George crouched, struggling fiercely to quiet his rough,
laboured breathing, while Paeroa with a last encouraging word,
slipped into a bush a little further on and squatted there.
With one hand grasping the stiff, upstanding leaves, and with the
other fast closed about the handle of his club--the loop of which he
had taken the precaution to secure round his wrist--George sat
listening to the murmur of voices coming gradually nearer. As far as
he could judge there were only two or three Maoris on the track,
whence he argued that the commotion at the other end had been merely
a _ruse de guerre_ to induce the fugitives to believe that they were
discovered. Still, it would not do to be too sure, for the Hau-haus
were all over the place, and it might well be that while some
advanced along the track, others were creeping through the swamp,
searching each bush in turn.
Suddenly there fell a silence. The men on the manuka had either
stopped to reconnoitre or given up the search and gone back, and
George, feeling cramped and stiff, was about to change his position,
when a low '_he! he!_' from Paeroa warned him to remain still. A
moment later a Maori leaped from the track into a flax-bush, searched
it swiftly, and passed on to another.
The sound indicated that the man was coming in his direction, and
George ardently wished that he had continued to hunt for his
revolver, instead of gazing, moonstruck, at the greenstone club.
Another leap and the man was in the clump next to him. One more
and----
A stream of fire, the roar of a revolver, and with a loud, choking
gasp the Hau-hau fell dead somewhere in the ooze, while from the
adjoining bush came Terence's voice: 'Quick, George, after me! We
are close to the spot where the river forks. Kawainga is already
across. I came back for you.'
Amid the tumult of pursuit, crackling rifle fire and yells, as now
and again an incautious Maori floundered into the swamp, they left
their cover and leaped from bush to bush across the space between the
broken end of the track and the small strip of hard ground by the
river. Here Paeroa joined them and, guided by him, they crossed the
stream and plunged into the bush.
[Illustration: Map of the 'Pah' of Death and its surroundings]
'Safe!' muttered Terence. 'I had to shoot that fellow, George, for
he landed almost on top of me. I don't think that they will find us
now; but we had better get away as far as possible before we halt.
We are not out of the wood yet.'
'Very much in it, I should say,' answered George, as a thorn-branch
smacked him sharply across the cheek. 'Don't go too fast, Paeroa.
It will not do for us to lose touch with one another. Besides, you
must be almost worn out. Where is Kawainga?'
'Here I am, Hortoni,' said the girl. 'I waited for you on the flat
with Paeroa, though you did not see me.' There was a note of pride
in her voice.
'You are both good friends, I know,' replied George. 'Are you weary,
Star of the Morning?'
'Nay; the Maori is never weary when a friend is in danger,' the girl
answered simply. 'Press on, Hortoni. Day is very near.'
'Ay! It must be,' put in Terence. 'Hark, George, those fellows are
still roaring under the impression we have been kind enough to wait
for them in the swamp. I can't understand why that astute chief did
not order torches to be lit.'
'Possibly because he found out that we had got possession of
firearms, and did not wish to give us a good target. By the way,
Terence, have you got the third revolver? I lost mine as I crossed
the ditch. My club is all very well; but----'
'Your club!' Terence's tone expressed amazement. 'You don't mean to
say that the thing has come back to you!'
'No; I don't.' George laughed a little. 'However, I have found it.
It was on the bank of the ditch where we crossed after our last
excursion.'
'Oh yes; that sounds quite commonplace,' said Terence. 'All the same
I'll warrant that you were mightily surprised when you found it.'
'I was; and thankful too,' admitted George. 'But you see how easily
everything in connection with the club may be explained when once we
begin to sift matters.'
'I should like to know, then, how it found its way back to you from
the bottom of the sea,' Terence said slyly.
'It was I who brought it back, O Mura.' Paeroa's voice came out of
the gloom ahead of them. 'I found it the first time that I dived,
and, as I had been too hurried to take off my waist-cloth, I hid the
_mere_ therein and waited till I could give it to Hortoni. But he
was sleeping with his face towards the gates of Reinga, so I slipped
it under his mats as he lay on his litter--and after that he got
well,' he finished innocently.
Terence drew a long breath. 'Another illusion gone!' he commented.
'Before we are done we shall be forced to believe that the wonderful
_mere_ is only a piece of common greenstone after all. I think that
we should halt. What do you say, Paeroa?'
'Let us rest. The poor fellow must be worn out,' put in George. 'I
feel tired enough myself, now that the hot excitement has died down.'.
After crossing the stream they had turned sharply to the left and
struck into the blazed track which Te Karearea's axe-men had made on
the night of their arrival. Otherwise they would not have been able
to get through the thick bush, and must have fled through the forest
by the beaten track, along which the Hau-haus even now trailed like
so many dogs on the scent of a fox. As it was, their progress had
been difficult enough, for the undergrowth had renewed itself in the
intervening weeks, and their low-voiced conversation came in
disjointed sentences as they struggled through the tangle of fern and
creeper which strove to hinder their steps.
'Now, listen to me, all of you,' George said earnestly, as they
gratefully stretched themselves on the fern and divided the food
which Kawainga had carried. 'As soon as it is dawn Te Karearea will
organise a hunt for us. If any of us should be captured, those who
escape must not think of the plight of their friends, but hurry on to
the camp of the British or the Friendlies. It is important that this
nest of rebels should be cleared out. Is that agreed, Terence? Do
you understand, Paeroa?'
After some hesitation Terence muttered 'Agreed!' and Paeroa, who had
waited for him to speak first, answered, 'I hear, Hortoni!' and
George was satisfied, knowing that with him to hear was to obey.
As Terence had had most sleep at the beginning of the night, he now
took the first watch and, as the grey dawn stole through the bush in
ghostly, almost ghastly silence, he thought how different it all was
from Australia, where the morning would have been heralded in by the
beautiful matin-hymn of the magpie, so called, the cheerful hoot of
the laughing-jackass, and the exquisite treble and alto of hundreds
of smaller birds. Here was nought but solitude and stillness--a
stillness so profound that it began to get upon Terence's nerves, and
he more than once stretched out his hand towards George; for the
sense of companionship was somehow greater if he only touched his
friend's coat--or so he thought.
Presently the sky grew lighter, and the outlines of various objects
began to appear. Right ahead of him, a quarter of a mile away, was
the hill where George and he had lain and watched the Hau-haus at
their weird and blasphemous rites. Down that hill and through this
very bush they had run until pulled up by that tumble into the
underground world. If he could only find that hole again! Why
should he not try? The desire grew with the idea.
'I believe I could find it,' he said within himself, rising and
stretching his arms above his head. Then in the midst of a
satisfying yawn he dropped noiselessly out of sight behind the tree
against which he had been sitting.
From a hundred different points, ahead and on each side of him, brown
forms were dodging from tree to tree, and from as many different
spots among the fern scarred, brown faces peered, as it seemed,
malevolently at him.