The daughter of the dawn

by William Reginald Hodder

While I was inspecting these, a far away hollow roar fell upon my ears, followed by a hissing and a rushing near at hand; then presently I heard the sound of waters coming down the bed of the stream towards me, and knew that the mysterious freak of nature was at work again. I rushed to the edge of the bank and watched the foaming water, flooding the channel as it poured by, leaping and dancing as if glad to be free again.

Anxious to find out whence this water came I followed the bank, concealing myself as much as possible among the bushes, until, just at the opening of the valley, I found that it curved round at right angles, enclosing a patch of mossy ground against the rock, and came to an abrupt halt, as far as I was concerned, at the foot of the mountain wall. Here the water welled forth silently right out of the side of the rock, forming a deep pool some seven or eight yards across. The smooth open bank on which I stood carried its yellow moss and daisies up to the feet of the precipice, and then sloped away into the dark shades of the valley to the left.

I could see no opening through which the water issued. Evidently the current ran far below the surface, but how was the water dammed back to such an extent? I soon ascertained the cause: after flowing straight out for about twenty yards the water was obstructed by a narrow constriction in the rocks, through and over which it frothed and seethed before swirling round again towards the great wall.

I strained my eyes down into the dark green pool, trying to catch sight of the hidden opening, but the stream of bubbles which rose to the surface obscured the depths. I regretted that I had not been five minutes sooner, but my only plan now was to wait until the stream stopped flowing again, and then I should see what I should see—perchance the ‘way of the fish.’

Not knowing the habits of this extraordinary stream, I had no idea how often it dried up. It might be weeks before the strange phenomenon happened again, and yet on the other hand it might occur a second time that very day. I was willing to take the chance of this, and, as it was evident from the wood heaps and the kumara patch that the place was inhabited by someone, I resolved to conceal myself among the thick bushes across the pool on the strip of land which the river enclosed against the wall of rock.

Accordingly, I jumped across at a narrow part at the end of the deep pool and crept beneath a large spreading arm of a dwarf tree-fern. The tip of this leafy arm drooped till it touched the water, so that, as I lay at full length beneath it on the edge of the pool, I was fairly concealed from view, although through my green screen I could see the opposite bank and the edge of the bush at the opening of the valley. Here I made up my mind to wait and watch all day, for if there was anyone about I was certain either to see or hear them.

I conjectured many things as I lay, looking now at the bubbles that came up from the depths of the pool, and now at the blue sky, brightening with the morning sun. But of all the wild imaginations that flitted through my mind concerning that mysterious place, none was so strange as the series of events and adventures which actually befell. For several hours I lay beneath my fern shield hearing nothing more unusual than the singing of many birds in the valley, the frothing of the water among the rocks at the end of the pool, and its gentle lapping against the granite wall, a yard on my right. There could be no one in the valley, for if the fierce Ngaraki had been there he would have been up and abroad long since; there was no sound, no sign of any human being. What if, after all, Ngaraki dwelt within the mountain? By what strange and hidden gateway did he pass in and out of his temple?

While speculating on this matter the southern sun appeared over the top of the mountain wall, and I knew it must be near noon. The bright rays flooded down into the pure green depths of the pool, and the bubbles rose like great shining pearls. About ten feet down I thought I could distinguish something that looked like an aperture in the rock through which the stream was pouring. It did not appear to be a very strong current, for there was no indication of its force anywhere on the surface of the pool.

As I peered down trying to see it more clearly, some dark object sped through the opening. At first I thought it was part of a tree; then, by its movement in the water, it suggested a gigantic fish. Another second and I held my breath, while my heart beat hard against my ribs, for the object was now more clearly defined. A cold shiver ran through me; and now, as I write of that feeling, I must record my firm belief that there are moments when the wildest superstitions touch us with an icy finger, if they can but touch us unawares. Tiki’s taniwha flashed into my mind in that half-second, while I saw the dark monster with waving limbs rising from the bottom, and then flashed out of it again as I saw a head and neck, a pair of massive shoulders and two great brown arms approaching the surface. Now the sunlight glistened on the wavy black hair and dark brown skin of a Maori not two yards away from me.

With my heart thumping against my ribs I lay perfectly still, while the man who had come out of the mountain by ‘the way of the fish’ shook his head angrily, tossing the water from his long black hair; then he struck out for the opposite bank. He caught hold of some roots that were growing there, and with a sudden spring, set his foot in a hanging loop above the surface. In another moment he was standing on the moss, the water dripping from his hair and from his flaxen waist garment.