"War to the Knife;" or, Tangata Maori

by Rolf Boldrewood

"The pakeha's words are good, but who will say that they are straight? He may return to Waitemata, and tell the man who rides in front of the soldiers with red clothes that the pah at Rotorua is old and has rotten timbers, so that it would be easy for the men with red coats and the men with blue ones to take it. Why is the daughter of Mannering among the women who are bearing burdens for the pakeha? Will she follow him, and plant kumeras in his fields?"

"She will speak for herself," said Erena, stepping forward with flashing eyes and scornful mien. "If my father were here he would teach that evil-minded man"—pointing to Ngarara—"to speak with respect of his daughter. What can he say? Have I not a right to walk in the same company as this pakeha, or any other? Is not the daughter of a war-chief free to choose her friends? Has not that always been the law and the custom of the Arawa?"

Here there was a murmur of assent among the spectators, particularly from the side where the women of the tribe were assembled, while contemptuous looks were directed at Ngarara, who stood with lowering countenance, unable to face the withering scorn with which the indignant maiden regarded him.

Here Warwick took up the argument, not unreasonably considering that the just anger of the girl might carry her beyond the limits of prudence, as she stood, with burning eyes and heaving bosom, ready to invoke the wrath of the gods upon the head of the traitor who had dared to misinterpret her motives. He pointed out that she had joined the party with the express sanction of the great chief of the Ngapuhi, whose written authority and safe conduct she held; that the other natives, male and female, had been hired for the expedition on liberal terms; that they had been already paid in part (here he pointed to certain articles of apparel and ornament which they had lost no time in purchasing in Ohinemutu); that Ngarara, also, who had proved ungrateful and mischievous—"slave-like" and "a liar" were the Maori terms—had benefited by the pakeha's liberality: he had been paid in full. Here he named the sum, and pointed to a new hat, which the disloyal one had incautiously bought for himself. Upon him the eyes of the whole assembly were at once turned, and his countenance changed as a murmur of disapproval arose. Finally, the pakeha had assured him that he would send his friends from beyond the sea to see the wonders of Te Terata and Rotorua; they would bring trade and spend money like water for the benefit of the Arawa and the Ngapuhi.

Having thus spoken, using no mean quality of the oratorical power which is a natural gift of the Maori race, he produced Waka Nene's passport. This the chief (fortunately one of those who, like that veteran, had been taught to read and write by the early missionaries) perused with attention, while the whole tribe gazed with awe and reverence at the mysterious paper—the written word; the magic scroll! How often the herald of fate!

In this case, however, a triumphant success followed the perusal of the few lines in the handwriting, and signed with the name, of the great chief of the Ngapuhi, who, with more than a thousand warriors at his back, had formerly raided the Waikato and the Ngatimaru, carrying war and devastation through the length of the land.

"It is enough," he said, handing back the paper to Warwick. "The pakeha is a great rangatira. He is the friend of Waka Nene, who sent Erena to show him the great fountain and the hot breath of Ruapehu; he is now the friend of Hika-iro and all the lake tribes. As for you"—turning to Ngarara—"you are a bad man, a kuri, a tutæ. Go!"

The discomfited Ngarara slunk away, pursued by groans and hisses from the converted crowd, who, as is usual in such cases, were more vehement in their anger in proportion to the feeling of distrust which had marked their first impressions.

Peace having been restored, and the enemy routed with loss and dishonour, there remained no reason why Massinger should not devote the few days that remained to the exploration of this fascinating province of the wonderland. Rarely did the weather in that portion of the island remain steadfast to "set fair" for so many successive days as in this halcyon time.

Whether it was the excitement of the coming strife, which he could see by the manner of Warwick and Erena that they expected, the physical exhilaration produced by the medicated atmosphere, the association with the half-savage race, who now seemed ready to bow down before him almost with adoration,—one of these causes, or the whole combined, certainly found him in a condition of spiritual exaltation such as he had never before experienced, and in vain essayed to comprehend.