War to the Knife 20

War to the Knife 20

"I have heard of it; and what did the seer foretell? Is he known to be

a true prophet?" queried her companion.

 

"Wonderful as it may appear, he has been seldom wrong. This time

he predicts war--bloody and doubtful. Our tribe, though sometimes

defeated, is to be victorious. He counsels them to keep a straight

path."

 

The next day's journey was over a different route. The forest, with

its over-arching tree-tops and deep cool glades, lay behind them. They

had entered upon a region of barren and desolate sand wastes, of which

the neutral-tinted surface was varied by scarped over-hanging bluffs.

In these, a red-ochreous conglomerate gave a weird and fantastic

appearance to the landscape.

 

Halting towards evening, where the winding road by which they had been

ascending appeared to decline towards a wide valley, Erena silently

directed Massinger's attention to the far-stretching and varied view,

adding, "You are about to descend into the land of wonders, and the

kingdom of mysterious sights and sounds, with heaven above. As to

below, what shall I say?"

 

He smiled as he answered, "It is only to look around, to convince

one's self that we are on the border of a dread and unreal region.

Look at that volcanic cone, splashed with shades of red, emitting

steam from every point of its scarred sides and summit. And those

snow-capped mountains, grand and awful in their loneliness, gazing, as

one would dream over a ruined world, themselves awaiting only the final

conflagration."

 

"Very awful, terrible--infernal even, it seems to me sometimes," said

Erena. "I cannot help wondering how long it will be before these

imprisoned fires burst through, and, in rending their way to upper air,

destroy the heedless people who live so cheerfully on a mere crust. But

we must get down into this valley of Waiotapu, where we camp for the

night. There will be such a sight-seeing tomorrow in store for us, that

we shall hardly be able to move in the evening. Blue lakes and green

lakes will be the least of the marvels. When I was a child, I used to

think there would be talking fish in them, like those of the 'Arabian

Nights,' which stood on their tails in the frying-pan."

 

"What a dear old book that is!" exclaimed he; "how I used to delight

in it as a boy! Now I think of it, this region has a good deal of the

Sindbad the Sailor business about it. I shouldn't wonder if we came to

a loadstone mountain, which would draw all our steel and iron articles

into it, like the nails in Sindbad's ship! It would be lovely to see

everything take flight through the air, from the axes and revolvers to

the old mare's shoes."

 

The girl smiled at this extravagance, but relapsed into her __EXPRESSION__

of habitual seriousness as she answered, "Who knows but that we may

want the revolvers? At any moment war may break out. We are like the

Rotorua natives, I am afraid, walking on thin crust."

 

"I have skated on thin ice before now," he said, "but water and

fire are different things. It seems uncanny to be on land where your

walking-stick smokes if you poke it more than an inch into the soil. So

this is the famous and sacred valley!"

 

"Here we are," said Warwick, who now joined them, "and I am not sorry.

This sandy road takes it out of one ever so much more than the forest

country. Our autumn sun, too, is fairly hot at midday. The _Wahines_

felt it, carrying their loads up some of the hills."

 

"They seem to me to be given the heaviest packs," said Massinger,

rather indignantly. "Why doesn't that hulking fellow Ngarara carry part

of one at any rate?"

 

"Well, you see, he is a chief and has 'no back'--that is to say, he is

absolved from bearing burdens. His person is sacred to that extent. I

don't like him personally, but he is within his rights."

 

"I should like to kick him," said the Englishman; "he wants some of the

nonsense taken out of him."

 

"I shouldn't advise any hasty act," said Warwick, looking grave. "He

is a person of some consequence, and you would bring the whole tribe

down upon us, as they would consider themselves insulted in his person;

particularly now, as no one knows what may happen within a week or two.

As for the women, poor things, they are used to it. They do much of the

work of the tribe, and don't object to fighting on occasion."

 

"It is too true," said Erena. "I am always ashamed to see the

tremendous loads they carry in the _kumera_ season; and in the

planting, digging, and weeding of those plantations that look so neat

near the _kaingas_, they do far more than their share. I suppose women

in Europe don't work in the fields?"

 

"Well," returned Massinger, rather taken aback, "I am afraid I must own

that _they do_, now I come to think of it. They hoe turnip and potato

fields, reap and bind in harvest time; and, yes, the fishermen's wives

and the colliers' daughters work--pretty hard, too. In France and

Germany I have often thought they worked harder than the men."

 

"Ah! I see," said Erena, with a flash of her large dark eyes, illumined

with a sudden fire, which completely altered the __EXPRESSION__ of her

countenance. "Men are alike in all countries. They take the easy work,

under pretence of responsibility, and leave the drudgery to the poor

women. In one respect, however, we have the advantage. We can speak and

vote in the councils of the tribe."

 

"You don't say so! I should like to hear you speak in public, above all

things. Have you ever done so?"

 

"Sometimes," said she, relapsing into seriousness; "and if certain

events come to pass, you may hear me make more than one speech in the

_runanga_ before the year is out."

 

"How interesting!" he said, gazing at her with admiration, as she stood

in classic pose, with fixed gaze, and every graceful outline denoting

arrested motion.

 

* * * * *

 

"I thought it better to strike across to this valley of Waiotapu

first," said Warwick, "though Erena was in favour of going straight to

Rotorua. However, she now agrees with me, that you can have a foretaste

of volcanic action here, and take the main Taupo road to the terraces,

returning by Rotorua, which is the home of the _hapu_, or section of

her tribe."

 

"It is, after all, the best route, perhaps," said she, smiling frankly.

"You can reach the terraces easily now, and afterwards rest at Rotorua

before returning to Auckland. There is also another reason."

 

"What is that?" inquired Massinger, as he saw the girl's face change,

and her eyes once more become clouded over with the mysterious sadness

which from time to time dimmed her brightest __EXPRESSION__.

 

"I am nearly certain that there will be an outbreak--perhaps even war

declared--before we return. In that case----"

 

"In that case I should join the first body of volunteers I could come

at, or your own loyal tribe, if it remains so."

 

"I have every belief that Waka Nene will remain as true to your people

as he was in the old war, when he fought against Heke, and did such

good work in beating back Kawiti. My mother's brother, a noted chief,

died fighting for your people. But this will bring the tribes nearer

together; they may make common cause against the pakeha. It will be

a fight to the death. Some of the friendly tribes may waver. I would

advise your going to your own people without delay from Rotorua."

 

"And how about a guide? Warwick may not care to undertake the task in

the face of--what may happen."

 

"In that case"--and as she spoke, her inmost soul seemed to look forth

in high resolve through the lustrous eyes, now informed with the mystic

fire of the sybil--"I will ensure you a guide who knows the secret

paths even better than Warwick."

 

Massinger said no more. The countenance of Warwick wore a look of

mingled doubt and admiration, after which he ordered the attendant

natives to make the usual arrangements for a camp.

 

"We shall need no fire, that is one thing," he said, turning to the

Englishman.

 

"How is that?" he inquired.

 

"Nature is good enough to contract for the cooking here, which is the

least she can do before she blows them all up some fine day. Just watch

these people directly."

 

As indeed he did, much marvelling.

 

First of all, two of the women cleared a space, about three feet long

and two wide, in the warm earth; into this they placed a layer of

stones, which they covered with leaves. Upon this were placed the pork,

the _kumeras_, and some pigeons shot on the way, all of which were

rapidly and satisfactorily cooked. The evening meal, so miraculously

prepared, as it seemed, having been concluded, Erena retired with her

female attendants, pleading the necessity for a night's rest to prepare

them for the opening day of the Great Exhibition. The two men walked up

and down, smoking the meditative pipe. But long after his companion had

retired to rest, Massinger lay awake, unable to sleep amid the strange,

almost preternatural, features of the locality, while the anticipation

of a war between his countrymen and this stubborn and revengeful people

taxed his brain with incessantly recurring thoughts.

 

What would be the first act in the drama? He thought of isolated

families of the settlers, now living in apparent peace and security,

abandoned to the cruelty of a remorseless enemy. Would the horrors of

Indian warfare be repeated? Would a partial success, which, from their

advantageous position, and the absence of any large body of regular

troops, the natives were likely to gain, be avenged by merciless

slaughter? In either case, what bloodshed, agony, wrongs irrevocable

and unspeakable, were certain to ensue! What would be the outcome?

He thought of the farmsteadings he had seen, with neat homesteads,

garnered grain, contented hardy workers, their rosy-cheeked children

playing amidst the orchards. Were these to be left desolate, burned,

ravaged, as would be inevitable with all outside the line of defence?

Then, again, the populous _kaingas_, with grave _rangatiras_ and

stalwart warriors; the merry chattering _wahines_, sitting amid their

children when the day was over, much like other people's wives and

children, enjoying far more natural comfort than the British labourers'

families--were they also to be driven from their pleasant homes,

starved, harried, pursued night and day by the avenger of blood? Like

the heathen of old, dislodged by the chosen people with so little

mercy? The carefully kept _kumera_ plantations, so promising for

another season, were they to be plundered or destroyed? The lines from

Keble returned to his memory--

 

"It was a piteous sight, I ween, to mark the heathen's toil--

The limpid wells, the orchards green, left ready for the spoil."

 

Was all this murder and misery to take place because the

representatives of a great nation differed with a quasi-barbarous, but

distinctly dignified, lord of the manor about the title to an area of

comparatively small value when compared with the millions of acres of

arable and pasture still for sale, undisputed?