Terrible danger menaced him. In some unexplained way he had got the credit of having engineered the Boyd affair, and the crews of five whaling ships, accepting the rumour for truth, condemned the unfortunate chief unheard, and took bitter vengeance upon him.
Their task was easy, for the village was unfortified and the Maori wholly unsuspicious. Fully armed, the whalers fell upon the innocent people, sorely wounded the chief, and slew some two-score persons without regard to age or sex. Te Pahi himself escaped in the confusion, only to be killed not long afterwards by some of his own race because of the help he had given to the survivors of the Boyd. Doubly unfortunate was poor Te Pahi.
Thus bad began and worse remained behind. During the next decade numbers of tribesmen fell beneath the weapons of casual white visitors, while the Maori, on their side, smote with club and spear, and gathered as deadly a toll.
The country seemed drifting back into that state of savagery whence it had promised a short time before to emerge. It might have done so, but that at this juncture occurred an event which laid the true foundations of civilisation, and heralded that peace which, though long in coming, came at last.
RONGO PAI![55]
In spite of the tragedy of the Boyd, in spite of the war of individuals which vexed the coast—though murder was added to murder, revenge piled upon revenge,—more Pakeha filtered into New Zealand, content to brave death for the chance of obtaining a home and wealth.
On their part, more Maori deserted their hapu for the great world outside their little islands and, needless to say, were gazed at with shuddering curiosity. Such as these, taught by experience that there existed a race superior to their own, convinced their countrymen of the advantages to be gained by permanent friendship with the British Pakeha.