'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.