"All this is very pleasant," he said one morning; "though, but for the absence of red-tiled farmhouses and smock-wearing yokels, I might as well be back in Herefordshire. What I am dying to see, is a decent-sized village—kainga, don't you call it?—where I may see the noble Maori with his meremere, his pah, and his wharepuni, in all his pristine glory unsullied by pakeha companionship."
"I think I can manage that for you," replied Warwick, with an amused smile, "between here and Oxford."
"What, more England?" said Massinger. "Why not Clapham and Paddington at once?"
"Well, you must bear with Lichfield," continued Warwick. "We can turn off there and make for Taupo. Before we get there, I can promise you one real Maori settlement, as well as another rather more important, at Taupo on the lake."
"And a chief?" queried the wayfarer. "I must have chiefs. A real Rangatira."
"I believe Waka Nene, warrior, high chief, and ally of England, is on a visit at the first one we come to," said the guide, "and he should satisfy your taste for Maori life."
Their pathway was narrow, chiefly bordered by high ferns, various kinds of low-growing bushes, and when the forest was reached, occasionally blocked by fallen timber, which necessitated a considerable detour, not always accomplished without difficulty, and obstacles which seemed to multiply the fatigues of the journey. Still, the wondrous beauty of the primeval forest had fully repaid him for all difficulties which nature placed in their way. Hundreds of feet overhead, almost hiding the rays of the autumnal sun, and causing Massinger to throw back his head to gaze at their lofty coronets of foliage, rose the royal ranks of the Kauri, the Totara, the Rimu, and the Kahikatea. Unlike the less o'er-shadowed forests in Australia described in his premigratory course of reading, there was but little herbage to be seen between the giants of that unconquered woodland. Ferns, trailers, thorn bushes, often breast-high, more or less aggressive, climbers and parasites, filled up all space beneath the columnar trunks which stretched so far and wide.
It could easily be imagined how great an advantage the native warrior, but little encumbered with clothes, and active as the panther, had over the heavily armed, heavily clothed soldier of the regular forces. A fair, though not accurate shot at short range, practically almost invisible, the native is trained to take advantage of every description of covert. What chance, then, Massinger thought, would British regulars have against the guerilla tactics of this stubborn, fearless, yet crafty race?
As happened to many a gallant British soldier in the American revolutionary war, it might be a brave man's lot to be shot by a boy of fourteen, safely bestowed behind a fallen tree, or protected by a thicket whence he could empty his rifle at the fully exposed ranks of the pakeha. Though active, and fond of strong exercise of all kinds, Massinger was by no means sorry when his guide halted by the side of a gurgling stream, and intimated that they would here halt for refreshment. Rows of that magnificent fern, Dicksonia, fully thirty feet in height, towered over the banks of the rushing streamlet; a level patch of verdure near the bank provided a tempting lounge, as well as a table on which to arrange their humble meal. There reclining, the wayfarer from a far land reflected approvingly on the first stages of a journey which already promised a world of novel and mysterious experiences. And now a new experience awaited him.
Rested and refreshed, they moved on till towards evening, when Warwick, after following the path which led to the brow of a steep hill, stopped and invited his companion to look around. Far in the distance loomed the curved shoulder of a snow-crowned mountain. The ocean again rose to view. A winding river threaded the fields and pastures of a broad meadow. Tiny columns of smoke ascended from a collection of reed-constructed cabins. And with a distinct relaxation of feature, the guide pronounced the word Kainga—"Here is our stage for the night."