The violent chief whom I had seen haranguing them was there, seated upon the ground, while the others stood behind him. His aspect was one of treacherous hatred as Ngaraki, calm and careless, yet a savage of terrible presence, stood before him. Then, before a word was exchanged the tohunga of the temple burst forth into his message, delivering it in a half song, half speech, while he paced to and fro with dignified mien in the open space. He told them that Hinauri had returned, and that he was her messenger. He told them that her word was peace and love, that she had sent him to stop the approaching battle, that, if they fought, they would fight, not for her, but against her. While the yells of mutual defiance came up from the plain like the manifold voice of Tu—that god of war who ate his own brothers—Ngaraki’s tones resounded within the pa, impassioned and eloquent. But his words would find a heart of peace in the rocks themselves sooner than in the breasts of the savages before him.
He ceased, and the violent, blustering chief, whom he had addressed as Amukaria, sprang to his feet.
“He says Hinauri has come,” he yelled, brandishing his axe. “Can he show her to us? No; he says she is white as the mountain lily: then we don’t want to see her. Hinauri is no wahine pakeha; she is Maori like ourselves. I have seen her spirit: she is no pakeha. She bade me collect a thousand canoes. I have done so, and they will land at Wakatu to-night. Curse the pakeha! A pot for his head. This is my word to him.”
He turned and, rushing towards an effigy of the white man, which stood at one end of the enclosure, its head already half severed from its body, he struck a furious blow with his axe. The blow completely severed the head, which fell and rolled upon the ground. At this a shout arose from the other chiefs; then Amukaria took the effigy’s head in his hand, and holding it up cried, “A pot for the pakeha’s head!”
Ngaraki stood looking on in silence. Would his fierce blood stand this test? When the chiefs were quiet again he said calmly:
“O Amukaria, your words are wild. Your plans will come to nothing. Those who were to come in the thousand canoes are on my side. I have spoken to them and they have listened to my words. They come, but they leave war and knife behind them.”
A savage yell from Amukaria announced his baffled rage on hearing this. Maddened by drink and lust of blood, he appeared like a demon, with tongue protruded in deadly insult. He danced with rage before Ngaraki, who stood silent, regarding him with his stern black eyes. Verily the spirit of Zun the Terrible slumbered within him. A smile of contempt curled his lip, and Amukaria saw it. Unable to contain his fury any longer he rushed at Ngaraki with axe uplifted, saying, “I will cleave your head as well, and heat the oven for you.”
The wary chief did not move. He was unarmed, but he had left his outer robe within the mountain, and his limbs were free. For a moment only the axe was poised in the air, but that moment was the last of Ngaraki’s most unnatural forbearance with such a foe. His face changed. He would have said “Ngha!” but there was not time—so sudden was his spring. He caught the axe by its handle and wrenched it with a sudden twist from Amukaria’s hand; then, bounding off a pace, he whirled it far away beyond the palisades of the pa. Before his antagonist could grasp another weapon he had sprung upon him, and in a moment they were locked in a terrible struggle, in which I marked down Amukaria as already a dead man.
But as they rocked and swayed in the open space, one of the watching chiefs took a long-bladed knife and threw it carelessly upon the ground a few paces from the combatants. It would have been fair enough if it had been done openly, but the moment chosen was when Amukaria’s quick eye alone could notice the act. He had Ngaraki by the hair, but the ariki had his antagonist by the throat with one hand, and by the wrist with the other. Fully aware that no man could live many minutes with his throat in such a hand as his, he was content to keep his grip and wait. But all the while they were swaying to and fro nearer and nearer to the knife which he had not seen.
The other chiefs stood by in silence. They saw their leader’s face grow livid, but they knew that he would get the knife. His eyes were starting from his head, and his tongue was lolling, still in insult, from his mouth; but they saw, as I did, that he would reach the knife, and they did not interfere. I drew my revolver, determined to risk a shot at twenty yards if a good chance presented, but I held my hand, thinking that Ngaraki was not the kind of man to need my assistance in a single combat. I would only fire at the last possible moment; but I could warn him, and I thought to do so by shouting at the top of my voice. But my words were lost in the general uproar of savage yells on the plain, and were unheeded.