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.