War to the Knife 41

War to the Knife 41

"Worse--worse a hundredfold. First of all, the old and helpless would

be killed and eaten--yes, _eaten_ before their blood was cold. Any

particular family among the captors that had lost relatives would

have men or women handed over to them to torture at their pleasure;

and great pleasure it seemed to be to prolong the agony and refine

the cruelty. All the able-bodied men and women would be carried off

as slaves--not only to be used as beasts of burden, but to be held

degraded for life as having been slaves. Their lot was a hard one,

though occasionally some lived through it, and were now and then freed.

Others became distinguished, like Te Waharoa."

 

"I have heard his history," said Massinger. "What a remarkable man he

must have been!"

 

"He was indeed. Found crying, a small child, among the ruins of his

pah at Wanganui, and carried away to Rotorua by Pango, a chief of the

Ngatiwhakane, who in after-years piously repented (in 1836) that he had

not there and then ended the life of one fated to become the destroyer

of his tribe. It did seem ungrateful when he, forty years afterwards,

declared war against the tribe that had liberated him, and slaughtered

them wholesale at Ohinemutu."

 

* * * * *

 

Sleep did not appear to be likely to visit Massinger after what he had

heard from Warwick. Long after his comrades had retired he remained on

watch, gazing into the forest, as if he expected the Ngapuhi to debouch

thence, with Mannering and Waterton at the head of their warriors, and

Erena beside her father, a warrior-maid too proud to remain behind when

the great Ngapuhi tribe was on the war-path.

 

What would be the fate of this strange girl, so subtly compounded of

diverse elements, the twin natures within her--the forest life and the

civilized--each struggling for the mastery?

 

And what were his feelings now with respect to her? Could he deny

that her image was constantly in his thoughts; that the recollection

of her haughty, graceful bearing, her superb form, her lustrous eyes,

her radiant smile, combined to form a picture dangerously enthralling?

From one fateful syren, so destructive to his peace, his every aim and

prospect in life, he had been removed. And now, must a newer "phantom

of delight" reappear to disturb his faculties and assail his reason?

Whatever might be the result, one thing was certain--his heart swelled

with unwonted emotion at the thought of seeing her again.

 

And under what circumstances were they once more to meet? Not under

the fern-arched glades of that enchanted forest, wherein they had

wandered side by side so many a mile, carelessly gay as the bird

that called above them, looking forward but to the halt by rushing

stream or fire-lit camp, amid the silent splendours of the antarctic

night. He had thought to regard this fantastic friendship as one of

the inevitable episodes of a roving life, productive, doubtless, of a

transient series of pleasurable emotions and interesting experiences,

but to be disengaged from his career when serious action was demanded,

like the drifting weeds and flowers that for a time impede the flowing

tide.

 

How many men have so judged! How many have discovered that the fragile

bonds, to be cast aside as pleasure or interest might dictate,

have changed mysteriously into shackles and fetters that hold with

inflexible tenacity a long life through?

 

But who thus argues in the halcyon days of youthful dalliance,

when reason is stilled, and every natural feeling exults in joyous

possession of the magical hours? The sky is blue and golden, the

birds sing, strains of unearthly melody float through the charmed

air--immortal, enthralling. Care is defied, sorrow banished. The

"vengeance due for all our wrongs" is immeasurably distant. Yet

Nemesis--slow-footed sleuth-hound of Fate--is rarely evaded.

 

A train of depressing reflections may probably have arisen in his

midnight musings, not wholly to be disregarded, sanguine as was his

nature. But he comforted himself as a last resource with the idea that

there was a chance of his being knocked over in the coming engagement,

which promised to be of a yet more bloody and obstinate nature than

those in which he had already taken part. Having thus arrived at some

sort of a conclusion, if not wholly satisfactory, he disposed himself

to a slumber from which the bugle-notes of the reveillé only aroused

him.

 

The march had been arranged on the calculation that they would reach

Orakau, where the enemy would in all probability join the hostile

forces in sufficient time to intercept them, and so destroy the

strength of the combination. The order of the day, therefore, required

a continuous march until sundown, after which a halt for refreshment

would take place.

 

The troops would then continue the advance until daylight under

the guidance of trusted scouts, of whom Warwick was the leader and

interpreter. They would then, it was hoped, be enabled to fall upon the

Ngaiterangi unprepared, and deal one of the most decisive blows of the

war, besides capturing the Orakau pah, a stronghold of great strength

in itself, and the key to a most important position. Artillery, too,

would be brought to bear on the pah for breaching purposes. The full

strength of the Ngapuhi and Rarawa would also be available. All things

looked like an assured victory.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII

 

 

While in one hemisphere Roland Massinger was revolving these momentous

questions concerning love, duty, happiness, in this world and the next,

Hypatia Tollemache was considering almost equally important decisions

at the other end of the world.

 

Her range of thought and feeling was by no means so comprehensive as

his, inasmuch as, by adhering to the strict line of duty embodied

in altruistic sacrifice, she had considerably narrowed the field of

argument. She had definitely abandoned the idea of "slum missionary"

effort, having discovered by experience what had been previously

suggested to her, that there is an unpleasant, even undesirable, side

to these ministrations when the evangelist is a young and handsome

woman.

 

She saw clearly that there were many worthy labourers in that vineyard

who, possessing equal zeal, did not suffer from such disqualifications.

The illness which she had contracted when weakened by overwork,

possibly through infection, had chilled her enthusiasm, perhaps caused

her to doubt the expediency of her mission.

 

She was on the point of reviewing the respective conditions of

missionary life in China and Hindostan, where the Zenana offered so

fair a field for reformation by cultured sisterhoods, when she received

a letter from her friend Mary Summers, the interpretation of which was,

to Hypatia's sympathetic spirit, "Come over and help us."

 

With Mary Summers she had long since formed a close friendship. They

had corresponded regularly since her departure to New Zealand as the

wife of the Reverend Cyril Summers. He had been a _protégé_ of Bishop

Selwyn, and, as a curate, a favourite attendant during the long,

quasi-dangerous journeys in which the soul of that latter-day apostle

delighted.

 

As often happens in friendships, and even closer intimacies, the

schoolfellows were strongly contrasted in appearance and disposition.

The one was tall and fair, with grey-blue eyes, which could flash on

occasion. An air of hauteur, chastened by philosophic self-repression,

distinguished her. The other was scarce of middle height, with a

_petite_ but perfect figure, dark hair, and wistful hazel eyes.

 

Hypatia was impetuous, disdainful of obstacles, hating the expedient,

and scorning danger. Mary was persuasive, self-effacing, soft of speech

and manner, of a goodness so pervading that it seemed an impertinence

to praise it. Many people were strengthened in their convictions as to

a future state by the belief that any such scheme must include a heaven

for Mary Summers.

 

She and her husband had encountered trials and privations, borne

unflinchingly. They had reached a moderate degree of success, and, so

to speak, prosperity, having come to inhabit a comfortable cottage

near Tauranga, when this lamentable war bade fair to ruin everything,

destroying the work of years, and even endangering their safety.

 

The epistle which decided Hypatia as to locality ran as follows:--

 

"MY DEAREST HYPATIA,

 

"Wars and alarms still prevail, I grieve to say. The colonists are

determined, and the natives desperate, each race fighting as if for

existence. Blood has been shed on either side, so that all hope of

peace or mediation is at an end. I do not give any opinion as to

the policy of the Government. My husband believes that an act of

injustice provoked the contest which led to the war. The side on

which the fault lay has a heavy account to settle. But now all agree

that unless the natives make unconditional submission there is no

hope of peace.

 

"And how terrible are the consequences! It is positively

heartbreaking to see the dispersion of native schools, the empty

churches, and to hear of promising pupils and converts in the ranks

of the enemy--though they have not unlearned, poor things, all that

we have been at such pains to teach them. Continually we hear of

acts of humanity performed by them while fighting bravely in their

own ranks. Poor Henare Taratoa went under fire to fetch water for

a wounded soldier in the trenches at the Gate Pah. He himself was

killed soon afterwards at Orakau.

 

"It is affecting to hear, as we did, from a man in active service, of

their reading the lessons of the day and singing their psalms in the

intervals of the hottest fighting.

 

"These were once our _friendly_ natives, many of whom we know well by

name. They will not fight on Sunday, or break the Sabbath in any way,

which is more than our troops can say. Though at times downhearted