The daughter of the dawn

by William Reginald Hodder

Amukaria was near the knife now. His rolling eyes had marked its position. His fingers slackened from Ngaraki’s hair, and mine sought the trigger, while I steadied myself. His body drooped as if he were falling. At that instant, judging by what followed, Ngaraki must have seen the hand which had held him reach out and grasp the haft of the knife. A yell of triumph came from the watching chiefs, but it was quickly silenced. As the knife was grasped firmly in the murderous hand, Ngaraki suddenly let go his fatal grip; then, as the lolling tongue was protruding still further in triumphant insult, his knee came up with a terrific crash against his antagonist’s chin. I heard Amukaria’s jaws clap together like a trap. It was a death-blow. His neck was broken. He fell back like a log and lay there with the lower half of his tongue bitten off by his own teeth.

“Ngha!” said Ngaraki at last, as he picked up his half of the tongue that had insulted him and tossed it to some dogs that were in the enclosure. As he did so the chiefs sprang upon him unawares, and after a prolonged struggle he was overpowered, and was soon lying bound hand and foot with flaxen thongs. Among these chiefs there was one who urged the others not to kill Ngaraki, but to bind him to the stake on which the headless effigy stood, so that when they returned with the pakehas’ heads they might hold a triumph over him before preparing him for the oven.

“Now let us hear you call on Hinauri to come and set you free,” said one of them, when the deed was done. Their tongues were protruded at him, and they taunted him in a manner that is hard for a Maori chief to bear. But Ngaraki stood in silent contempt, yet his black eyes blazed with wrath, and his flesh quivered with the indignity of his position. He tugged and strained at his bonds, and I saw that if he could but free himself it would be a bad day for his foes.

At this time the battle broke with a rattle of musketry and a rising babel of yells on the plain, and the chiefs that were still in the pa hurried down for the fray. The two lines which had been sending out single combatants for some time now fused in one mass, the muskets were cast aside after the first few shots, and the fighting was carried on hand to hand in the grim savage style. In the midst of the throng I could see the grey-haired Te Makawawa fighting fiercely. Even as I singled him out he killed his man, and, whirling his club round his head, raised the savage war-cry, “Whaka ariki!” He and his warriors were now driving the opposing force back against the stronghold. As soon as I saw this an inspiration struck me to liberate Ngaraki, or they would certainly kill him when they were driven back into the pa. In a very few minutes I was down the tree and rushing round the great rock. The fighting was close upon me as I reached the path that led up from the plain, and when I gained the narrow strip of rock in front of the pa I looked back and saw that some of them had turned and were retreating rapidly up the path by which I had come. There was no time to lose. I darted in through the opening left between the palisades and rushed across the open space towards Ngaraki, who seemed to be trying to tear the flesh off his bones in his efforts to free himself and get at the foe.

In less than ten seconds, and just as the foremost Maori entered the pa, the thongs were cut. The chief turned his fiery eyes upon me, said “He Pakeha!” and bounded off to strangle the only foe he could see—the savage who had just entered the pa. Stepping quickly aside from a fierce blow, he seized the unfortunate man by the throat with both hands, lifted him off his feet and shook him like a rat in the air, after which he broke his skull against one of the palisades. Then, picking up the weapon of his foe, a large greenstone meré, he turned to the opening of the pa to meet two who were rushing in. Both of them continued their rush into Reinga, the abode of spirits, with a clear understanding that they were to leave the door open, for more were coming that way.

Ngaraki now stood in the opening and fought grimly against the savages that Te Makawawa and his warriors were driving in. To help him I shot one here and there as occasion demanded, and at last he stood on the narrow strip of rock—an object that struck terror to the hearts of his enemies, for they only faced him as they were compelled by the fierce onslaught of Te Makawawa and his warriors behind. For the most part they were demoralised, and were pushed headlong into the fissure by the press of the throng. Some of the bolder chiefs rushed yelling on to the narrow way, but Ngaraki’s terrible club whirled and flashed like green lightning all about him, and they went down. At last one brave fellow sprang forward and closed with Ngaraki, and I had to hold the narrow way myself; but not for long, for, before I had emptied my revolver, I saw bare legs whirling in the air near by, and in another moment a Maori was hurled into the fissure. It was not Ngaraki, for that fierce ariki was again standing on the rock—a majestic figure, dealing death. In the side-glance that I caught of his flashing eyes and commanding front, I understood what it meant to a Maori to have the blood of the Great River of Heaven running in his veins. Verily the spirit of Zun the Terrible was awake within him.

In the midst of this I saw moving round to the left at the base of the Lion Rock a large band of savages who had not retreated up the path to the pa, but were evidently bent on some other object. They were led by a tall fierce fellow, and I thought I saw the negro wizard darting to and fro among them. Could they be heading for the opening of the mountain? I fired at a foe who seemed one too many on the narrow strip and looked again. The leader pointed his club towards the mountain, and with a yell pressed forward. At the same instant a rifle shot echoed from high up in the mountain wall, and the savage fell forward on his face. Thank Heaven! Kahikatea was on the alert, but if that band got into the mountain, what could two men and two women do against them? It was with a sickening sensation that I had remembered I had descended by the rope and left it there. Would anyone think to draw it up? Again, I shuddered as I reflected that in all probability the negro wizard had been into the mountain while we were in the marble cave. Could it have been he that tried to hold the rope when I pulled it up?

Filled with apprehension, I noted with one eye that Ngaraki and Te Makawawa’s warriors were nearly through their terrible work, and with the other that the band heading round the Lion Rock were in some confusion and hesitation. There was yet time to gain the mountain before the negro wizard could urge them into the precincts of what many of them regarded as the stronghold of the taniwha.

I knew that in every pa there must be a way of escape by the back, but, failing to find it, I made for the back of the Lion, and presently stood on the steep rock near the top of the pine from which I had watched the curtailing of Amukaria’s offending tongue. The tree-top was six feet from me, and a glance to right and left showed me there was no other way down. Every moment was precious if I were to have a hand in guarding the woman I loved from that most subtle tool of the Vile Ones—the Poisoner. Gathering myself together, I sprang as the tree-top swayed towards me, and, passing through the feathery pine foliage, found myself clasping the slender top of the stem with arms and legs. For the moment I thought it would break, and there would be an end, but it held good, and I made my way rapidly down the trunk, bruising and scratching myself in my haste. Once on the ground, I sped across the mouth of the valley as fast as my legs would carry me, but I had scarcely gained the bank of the channel when I was overtaken by a Maori running at full speed, with a musket in each hand and a kitful of something heavy round his neck. At first I thought he was an enemy, and I prepared to meet him as such, but when we came face to face on the bank I found to my surprise that it was Tiki.

“That Taepo is coming to take ‘the little maiden,’ ” he said fiercely. “Here, Wanaki—lead the way.” He handed me one of the muskets and motioned me to proceed. In a very short space of time we were standing inside the opening, and then Tiki disburdened himself of the kit which I found contained a goodly supply of cartridges.