“And they did not eat you?” said the officer laughing.
“There, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem, “hear that?”
“I think you are right, youngster,” continued the officer, “and I shall do so. Mr Dillon, bring up the prisoners.”
This was to a master’s mate, who led off a guard, and returned with the captives bound hands behind, and the Maoris looking sullen and haughty, while the three whites appeared at their very worst—a trio of the most vile, unkempt scoundrels possible to see.
They were led to the front, scowling at every one in turn, and halted in front of the officer, who, after whispering to the master’s mate, gave orders to one of the seamen. This man pulled out his great jack knife, opened it, and being a bit of a joker, advanced toward the Maoris, grinding his teeth and rolling his eyes.
The savages saw his every act, and there was a slight tremor that seemed to run through them all; but the next instant they had drawn themselves up stern and defiant, ready to meet their fate at the seaman’s knife.
“No, no. No, pakeha. No kill,” said a deep angry voice; and as every one turned, Ngati stalked forward as if to defend his enemies.
But at the same moment the man had cut the first Maori’s bands, and then went on behind the rank, cutting the line that bound seven, who stood staring wildly.
The next minute a seaman came along bearing a sheaf of spears, which he handed, one by one, to the astonished savages, while their wonder reached its height, as the master’s mate presented to each a knife, such as were brought for presents to the natives.
“Now,” said the officer, addressing them, “I don’t understand you, and I don’t suppose you understand my words; but you do my deeds. Then, in the king’s name, you are free; and if you ever take any English prisoners, I hope you will behave as well to them as we have behaved to you. There, go.”