Hinauri’s arms fell to her side, and she turned to the chief, who stood silent. With a swift glance she scanned his stately form, and, when her eyes met his, a look of recognition came upon her face. In the half-bewildered way of one who is linking the memory of a dead past on to the living present, she said in even, solemn tones, speaking in the Maori tongue:
“I know thee. I know thy name. I know that of which thou art the meaning. Zun! my counsellor in an age gone by; the one who stood by me in the darkest hour of danger; but stooped from the high magic that I taught my priests—stooped, and sinned, and fell, to save me when all seemed lost. Lo! the gross image of myself—the stranded spar bound down with a stone!—whose was the splendid lie that gave that image to the Vile Ones to oppress, saying ‘This is Hia’s real self’? The lie was thine, O Zun! the substitution of the false for the true to save the sacred stone from their polluting hands. Misguided friend of long ago! thou hast suffered for love of me and still must suffer——”
She broke off suddenly, and my thoughts, which were recalling Ngaraki’s interpretation of the characters on the breast of the Twelfth Tohunga, found a sudden ending; for, at that instant, there came from the plain below a sound that shook the air. A sudden tramp of many feet as one, then silence and a short sharp yell, harsh and terrible, rending the silence like a savage spear thrust—these were the signs that told the first terrific movements of the Maori war-dance on the plain.
Ngaraki’s hand closed tightly on his meré, and he advanced one foot; but Hinauri’s eyes were sad, and her face sorrowful, as she mutely questioned him, while we all stood silently by in the shadows, feeling it was not for us to speak or act.
At length the fierce chief spoke:
“Hinauri has returned, and her people are ready to fight for her. Ngha! they will fight the whole world and drive them into the sea.”
The sound of the war-dance—evidently a sudden surprise to him—had half aroused his fierce nature, and for the moment his great joy could plan no higher tribute to his goddess than to fight for her. But in another moment he was recalled from his wild impulse, for Hinauri’s face grew sad beyond words as she answered:
“Zun—Ngaraki—my word is peace, not war; my rule by love, not violence. Ah! I have awaked too soon from my long sleep. Thou wert ever fierce and too ready to fight for me. Well did they call thee Terrible. But hear me, Zun—they may heed my words. If they would be my people they must live by the law of love and not by that of war. Go to them. Tell them that my message is peace, and stay their violence. They make war, not for me, but against me. Go with all speed, lest it be too late, and thou return to look for me in vain.”
The chief’s fierceness fell from him at these words, and there appeared upon his face a look of wondering worship, softening his aspect with the high poetry which lingers long in the heart of his race. He bowed his head in submission and moved to go. But Hinauri called him back.
“Ngaraki! Depart in peace: leave war and knife behind you!” She pointed to his weapons as she spoke, and there was a command in her voice and eyes.