War to the Knife

And yet now how calm, how peaceful, was the historic water, how tranquil were all things, how happily flowed on the village life! Who could have believed that such horrors were transacted in this fairy isle, where now the voices of children at play, the crooning, low-voiced song of the girls, as they plaited the flax mats or made with deft fingers the neat provision-baskets, were the only sounds that met the ear?

Together they climbed the rocky summit of the island, and viewed the strangely compounded landscape, heard the dire sounds as of groans and murmurings of imprisoned fire-spirits, while from time to time an impatient geyser in the haunted valley of Whakarewarewa would fling itself in cloud and steam heavenwards with wildest fury.

Together they stood before the curious stone image, sacred under penalty of awful doom in the minds of the simple people, as having been brought in an ancestral canoe from the half-mythical Hawaiki in the dim traditionary exodus of the race. Together they forced their canoes up the glittering channel of Hamurama, and held their hands in the ice-cold fountain at its source, where it flows bubbling out of the breast of the fern-clad hill.

The moon was slowly rising over the dark range of Matawhaura as they left the further shore to return to Ohinemutu. The air was delicious, the lake a mirrored water-plain, across which the moonbeams showed silver-gleaming pathways, as if leading to other happy isles. The paddles of the Maori girls dipped softly into the placid water as the canoe stole silently across the lake's broad bosom.

"On such a night as this," said Massinger, "it would be most appropriate for you to tell, and for me to listen to, the legend of Hinemoa."

"It is a silly tale at best," answered Erena, with a tone half of sadness, half of playfulness, in her voice – "a tale of woman's love and man's fidelity. They had better fortune in those old days."

"And, of course, nowadays," said Massinger, "there can be almost no love and less fidelity."

"The pakeha is wrong," said one of the girls, as they rested on their paddles, evidently anxious not to miss Erena's version of the legend (like that of Antar among the Arabs), ever new and deepening in interest with every generation – "the pakeha is wrong; girls' love is just the same as ever it was. It is always fresh, like the foliage of the pohutu kawa, with its beautiful red flowers. It does not fade and fall off, like the leaves of the trees the pakeha brought to the land."

"Hush, Torea!" said Erena; "you must not talk so to this pakeha. He is a great rangatira. And besides, you cannot know."

"Do I not?" answered the forest maiden. "If he is a rangatira, he will know too. But are you going to tell us the Taihia?"

"To stop your mouth, perhaps I had better; so I will begin. You must know that there was a young chief called Tutanekai, who resided with his family on this island of Mokoia. He was handsome and brave, but because of certain circumstances, and being a younger son, he was neither of high rank nor consideration in his tribe. He was, however, gifted in various ways, which made the young women of the tribe look favourably upon him. He was fond of music. On account of this, he and his friend Tiki constructed a stage or balcony on the slope of the hill there, which he called Kaiweka. There they used to sit in the evenings, while Tutanekai played on a trumpet and his friend upon a flute, the soft notes of which were wafted across the lake to the village of O-whata, where dwelt Hinemoa.

"Now, Hinemoa was the most beautiful maiden in the tribe, and her reputation had travelled far. All the young men had paid court to her, but could get no mark or sign of favour. Among her admirers was Tutanekai, but he was not certain of his feelings being returned, and had not dared to pay her attention openly. So he used, lover-like, to breathe his woes into his melodious instrument; and night after night, as he and his friend sat on their balcony, the tender melancholy notes of the lover's trumpet floated over the lake, and were audible amid the sighs of the evening breeze and the plashing of the waves on the shore.

"After many moons, and when the summer was advanced, he found means to send a message to her by a woman of her hapu, to whom Hinemoa answered, 'Have we both, then, had such thoughts of each other?' And from that time she began to think daily of the love which had sprung up in her heart for Tutanekai, and to wander about by herself, and refuse food and company, after the manner of lovesick maidens. All her friends and relations began to say, 'What has happened to Hinemoa – she who was formerly so gay?' They also noticed that Tutanekai shunned the company of the young men, save only of his heart's brother, Tiki. Her feelings at length became so uncontrollable, that if there had been a canoe she would have paddled over to the point where her lover's trumpet, like the voice of the sea Atua which none may disobey and live, seemed to draw her very heartstrings towards his abode on Mokoia. But her friends, thinking of this, had secured all the canoes.

"So it happened that on one warm night, when the moon was nearly full, she resolved in her heart what to do. She tied together six empty gourds to float around her, lest she might become faint before she reached the island, and softly slid into the lake near this very point, Wai-rerekai, which we are now approaching, and as often as she felt tired she floated with the help of the gourds. At last, when nearly exhausted, she reached the rock near the warm spring, which is still known by her name. Here she bathed and rested, also warmed herself, as she was trembling all over, partly from cold, and partly at the thought of meeting Tutanekai.

"While the maiden was thus warming herself in the hot spring, Tutanekai felt thirsty, and sent a slave to bring him water. So this slave went to the lake close to where Hinemoa was, and dipped in a calabash. The maiden, being frightened, called out to him in a gruff voice like a man's, 'Who is that water for?' He replied, 'It is for Tutanekai.' 'Give it to me, then,' said Hinemoa. Having finished drinking, she purposely threw down the calabash and broke it. The slave went back, and told Tutanekai that a man in the bath had broken it. This occurred more than once. Then Tutanekai in a rage went down to the bath, and searching about, caught hold of a hand. 'Who is this?' said he. 'It is I, Hinemoa.' So they were married, and lived happily," said Erena, concluding rather abruptly. "Oh, the next trouble which occurred was that Tiki, the friend of Tutanekai's heart, grew ill and like to die because he had no wife, after being deprived of his friend and heart's brother. However, he was consoled with the hand of Tupe, the young sister of Tutanekai, and all was joy and peace."

At this happy ending the two Maori girls clapped their hands and shouted, "Kapai, Kapai!" till the lake-shore echoed again. Then dashing in their paddles, they rowed with such power and pace that they were soon landed at the legendary point of rock whence Hinemoa, love-guided, tempted the night, the darkness, and the unknown deeps.

The allotted days passed all too quickly. They had wandered through the forest aisles and silent over-arching glades of Tikitapu; had stood on the saffron-hued flooring of Sulphur Point; had revelled in the life-renewing waters of the "Rachel" and the "Priest's" hot springs, whence all who bathe in faith issue cured of earthly ailments. The Oil Bath, the Blue Bath, the Spout Bath were successively tested, until, as it seemed to Massinger, he had acquired a new skin, almost a new soul and body, so exalted seemed every motion of sense and spirit.

At Whakarewarewa the great Pohutu Geyser, with its eruptive column of steam and water, nearly eighty feet in height, had been visited; also the grim and terrible Brain Pot, unknowing of the tragedy of which it was to be the scene, concluding with the dread and noisome Dantean valley redolent of the sights and sounds of the Inferno, even Tikitere.

But one more day remained, and the trio were engaged in debate as to the manner in which it should be spent, so as to compress the greatest possible enjoyment into the "grudging hours," when a party of natives was observed to come through the fern-covered flat between Whakarewarewa and the lake, and at once proceed to the carved house. Here a number of the tribe, including the chief and certain elders, at once assembled.

"News of importance," said Warwick. "Something is in the wind; I must go over and see."

There was no doubting the fact that highly important intelligence had been received. The whole tribe was astir, and buzzing like a swarm of angry bees. When Warwick returned his face was grave and anxious.

"As I feared," he said. "The Governor has been obstinate in the wrong place; he would not give way in the case of the Waitara block. Blood has been shed. The Waikato tribes are massing their men, and threaten to attack Taranaki. War is declared. Outlying settlers have been killed. There is no going back now."

"This looks serious indeed," said Massinger, not, however, without a certain alertness of manner which showed that the romance of war was uppermost in his mind. "What is to be done? or where must we go?"

"It has come at last; I was certain that it would," said Erena. "What a terrible thing it is that men should be so foolish, so selfish! But we must do something, and not talk about it. I am for making across to Hokianga, and must go and prepare at once."

"Her idea is a good one," said Warwick, as the girl ran down to her end of the camp and called up her women. "We can get over to Horaki and go down the river by boat. The neighbourhood will be quiet as yet. We can trust the Ngapuhi, with Waka Nene to keep them steady, to be loyal to England. He never wavered in Heke's war, and is not likely to do so now. We must take leave of this chief, and get away without loss of time. But who comes now – with a following, too? This looks like a taua."

Here a fresh excitement arose, while shouts of "Haere mai!" and other words of welcome, more strongly emphasized than usual, denoted the arrival of a personage of importance. A comparatively large body of men, well armed, and superior to the ordinary natives of the district in height and warlike appearance, had come in sight. They marched regularly, and as they came up, all carrying muskets and cartridge-pouches, they presented a highly effective and martial appearance. Their leader was a white man.

At this moment Erena, who had been busied with her female attendants, reappeared. The moment she caught sight of the contingent she uttered a cry of joy, and, turning to Massinger, said —

"This is indeed most fortunate. We shall have no more trouble about routes. Yonder is my father. Let us go to meet him."

As she spoke Massinger noticed that the leader of the party, after a few words of greeting to the chief, had turned in their direction, and commenced to walk slowly towards them. As they approached one another, Erena seemed anxious to explain to him the fact of her father's appearance at Rotorua at this particular time.

"He has, no doubt, had news of the likelihood of war, and has been to some portion of the tribe at a distance on some message for Waka Nene. He ranks as a war chief in the tribe since the old war, and has much influence."

By the time the explanation was concluded they were almost face to face, and Massinger was enabled to note the appearance and bearing of Allister Mannering, perhaps the most remarkable man among the by no means inconsiderable number of distinguished persons who from time to time had elected to cast in their lot with the children of Maui.

Massinger, in later years, always asserted that never in his whole life had he been so much impressed by the personality of any living man as by the remarkable individual who now stood before him. Tall beyond the ordinary stature of manhood, but of matchless symmetry, and moulded not less for activity than strength, there was a compelling air of command in his eye which every motion confirmed. His expression was grave and stern, but as he approached Erena, who ran to meet him, a wave of tenderness crossed his features like the ripple on a slumbering sea. Then he folded his daughter in his arms with every token of paternal fondness.

Whatever somewhat belated explanation of the position Massinger was arranging in his mind, was arrested by the meeting between father and child. After a short colloquy Mr. Mannering advanced, and with perfect courtesy expressed his pleasure in welcoming him to Rotorua.

"I see that Erena has, with the help of Warwick here, done her part in showing you some of our wonders. Like her historic ancestress, she has a strong will of her own, but had I not the most thorough confidence in her prudence, as well as in the honour of an English gentleman, you will acknowledge that I might have cause for disapproval."

Here his steady, searching gaze was fixed full upon Massinger, who felt how poor a chance an unworthy adventurer would have, standing thus before him. But he met his accost frankly.

"I am indeed gratified to have met you, Mr. Mannering," he made answer. "I owe much of the charm of this month's travel and adventure to your daughter's companionship. It will be a lifelong memory, I assure you."

"You are neither of you to say any more about it," interposed Erena, with a playful air of command, hanging on her father's arm and menacing Massinger. "I am sure I enjoyed myself very much; so we are all pleased, – which ends that part of the story. But oh! father, is it true that the war has commenced? If so, what are we to do, and how is Mr. Massinger to get back to Auckland? I thought of going straight to Hokianga."

"Exactly what we are to do, not later than tomorrow morning. That is, I am going, you are going, also my taua, whose only prayer is to fall in with some of the Waikatos, not more than double their number, and have a good old-fashioned bloodthirsty battle. They are all men who have grown up since Heke's war, and are spoiling for a fight. As for this gentleman's and Warwick's movements, they can settle them independently. I suggest that they avail themselves of my escort to Hokianga, whence they can easily find a passage to Auckland."

"Nothing could suit my purpose better," said Massinger. "I shall feel honoured by your company. Warwick will probably return with me."

Here the guide nodded assent.

"That is settled. You will find a hearty welcome from our chief, who has returned. I am proud to call him my earliest and best friend. So, as you are interested in Maori life and customs, you will never have a better opportunity of studying them under their natural conditions – I mean in time of war."

"In the land and the people I take an interest so deep that it will fade only with my life. Deeds, however, are more in my line, and by them I trust to be judged."

"There is a time coming for all of us," said Mr. Mannering, gravely, "when the valour and wisdom of both races will be put to the test. I have no doubt of the first. I only hope that the second may not be found wanting in the day of trial. And now, if you will excuse me, I must go back and hold diplomatic palaver with Hiki-aro, the chief here, and his most potent, grave, and reverend seigneurs. My men will be off duty, and will amuse themselves with games – most probably a war-dance, which you may like to see."

"I have seen one already in Auckland, but I will look on."

"And I will not," said Erena. "It is an abominable heathen custom, making these ignorant natives worse than they are, and recalling the bad old times which every one should be ashamed to speak about. I shall pack up and get ready for an early start."

"You won't change 'Tangata Maori' just yet, my dear Erena," said Mannering. "This war will throw him back a few years. But I agree with you that these old customs should be suffered to die out, and as we shall have ample time to discuss the war on the road home, I will reserve mention of it till tomorrow."

So saying, he departed to his taua, who, not until he dismissed them, piled their muskets, over which, in despite of their friendly relations with Rotorua, they set an adequate guard. They were soon observed to join their compatriots in a copious and hospitable meal provided by the women of the tribe.

"How relieved I am!" said Warwick, when father and daughter had departed on their respective errands. "Nothing could have been more fortunate than meeting Mr. Mannering here. Even in travelling to Hokianga, a friendly route, we might have met a skirmishing taua like his own, and, in spite of Waka Nene's passport, would have stood but little show of escaping. Maori blood has been shed, as well as white, and any murder of stray Europeans or hostile natives would be justifiable, according to inter-tribal law."

"Then we are safe as far as Hokianga?"

"I should say perfectly so. Mr. Mannering is a tower of strength; no single taua dares tackle his. His bodyguard are picked men, known to be equal to almost double their number. Then, of course, he has the whole Ngapuhi tribe, five thousand strong, at his back."

"And when we get to this Hokianga, as it is called? Is it a township?"

"It's a noble river, miles wide near the sea, with towns and villages on it. In the grand forests of Kauri Totara and other pine woods within reach, a great timber trade has flourished for many years past. Sailing-vessels ply between Horaki, Rawini, and Auckland, so there will be no difficulty in getting back."

The ceremonies proper to leave-taking having been transacted, the reinforced party set out for the Hokianga, through what are mostly described as pathless woods interspersed with morasses.

When the march was less difficult, and there was leisure for conversation, Mannering beguiled the way with tales and reminiscences which caused Massinger to wonder unceasingly that a man so variously gifted, possessed of such social charm, so wide an experience of men and books, should have elected to wear out his life amid a barbaric race. "Doubtless," thought he, "this man belongs to the true Viking breed, a born leader of men, impatient of the restraints of civilization, not to be contented without the quickening presence of danger, 'the dust of desperate battle,' the savour of blood, even. Such men have always been thrown off, from time to time, by our sea-roving race; have nobly done their parts in subduing for the empire the waste places of the earth. His hair is tinged with grey, but how springy his long elastic strides, how youthful are all his movements, how joyous his laugh, how keen his sense of humour! An Anax andrōn– a king of men, without doubt. No wonder that his daughter should have inherited, along with her glorious physical perfection, which she owes in part to her mother's race, the higher intelligence and lofty ideals which ennoble 'the heirs of all the ages, and the foremost files of Time!'"