War to the Knife 46

War to the Knife 46

"My dear Hypatia," said Mrs. Summers, gently taking her hand, "why rush

to such extreme conclusions? In the first place, the poor fellow is not

known to be dead, or even a prisoner. In the next, you cannot be held

responsible for the rash resolve of a man whom you felt you could not

marry. It is most unfortunate, I grant you, but surely you are not to

be held accountable."

 

"No, no! it was all my doing. My heedlessness and vanity must have

encouraged him, or he would never have thought of me in that way.

Then a foolish ambition stifled any natural liking. I _did_ like and

respect him far more than any other man I had ever met. And now, this

is the end of it! He is dead, and I am the unhappy cause. I shall never

recover it."

 

Words were of no avail. In vain Cyril Summers and his wife tried to

moderate her passionate remorse. She could see nothing but the darkest

fate and endless sorrow before her. She had destroyed his happiness,

his career, and now his life had been sacrificed to her insane desire

to travel out of the sphere which Providence had assigned to her.

 

Comparatively soothed by Mr. Summers' promise to send a trusty

messenger to procure reliable information as to his disappearance and

probable fate, she at length consented to retire with her friend and

comforter. To retire, but not to rest. If she slept, troubled visions

of pale corpses and blood-stained victims mingled with her dreams, and

the dawn had appeared before the slumbers which soothe alike the young

and old, the innocent and the guilty, brought transient rest and peace

to her troubled spirit.

 

Mr. Summers tranquillized her somewhat by sending away a native

convert, long associated with the mission, and at her request his wife

went also. They were a trustworthy and devoted pair, whose loyalty had

been well tried since the outbreak of hostilities. Known by the rebels

as Mikonaree natives, they were enabled to pass and repass unharmed.

Indeed, they were always welcomed by the insurgents, who never charged

them with bad faith. It was rather the other way, inasmuch as the

friendly natives were more than suspected of giving information of

probable movements by the troops to their countrymen. But, if it

were so, their apologists replied that it was, after all, merely in

accordance with the ancient Maori custom, which was to send notice to

the enemy that they were coming to attack them. The famous Hongi did so

in the case of his next-door neighbour, Hinaki, Chief of the Ngatimaru

tribe, when they met in Sydney, at Mr. Marsden's dinner-table, after

the former's return from England, saying, "Get your tribe ready as

soon as you return, for I am going to attack you when I get back to Te

Hauraki." He was as bad as his word, and with the aid of civilization

(muskets and powder), succeeded in taking the famous Totara pah,

slaughtering a thousand Ngatimaru, then killing (and eating) a large

proportion of his compatriot's tribe.

 

Ponui and Awariki did not lose time, but started away in light marching

order for the seat of war, secretly pleased and excited by the prospect

of hearing all about the bloody engagement and its attendant horrors,

while manifesting a decent show of sorrow for the pakeha's early fate.

 

They were several days absent, during the lingering hours of which

Hypatia held herself to be a prey to the fabled Furies. She was fully

impressed with the idea that an evil fate had befallen the missing

soldier, on account of which the messengers hesitated to return,

awaiting fuller information.

 

Thus, daily becoming more and more deeply depressed and remorseful,

she pondered upon the mysterious workings of Providence, disposed

to question its justice in permitting so bitter a blow to be dealt

to her--to her, who had always acted in undoubting faith! Upon what

trifling events do the great evils and misfortunes of life appear to

depend! Like the extra allowance of sunshine in the Alpine world,

which sets free the tiny ice stream, which again unlooses the blind

and devastating avalanche, what a tragedy had her heedless action set

in motion! And the end was not yet. Of what gruesome, bloodcurdling

tidings might not the messengers be the bearers!

 

After a night of miserable imaginings, Hypatia arose to find that the

messengers had returned, and furnished a report of their inquiries

to Mr. Summers, who, condensing it for her information, hastened to

relieve her worst apprehensions.

 

"Before entering into detail, let me assure you, my dear Miss

Tollemache," he said, "that we have good grounds for believing that Sir

Roland is alive, and, if not unwounded, most likely in good hands."

 

"What do they say?" asked she, with tremulous lips. "Were they able to

see any one who knew? His friends--Mr. Slyde, I mean. I have heard

they were comrades."

 

"They joined the Forest Rangers at the same time, I heard; and there

was also the half-caste guide, Warwick, a very fine fellow, who has

attached himself to our friend. Ponui saw both of them."

 

"Surely they would know. They did not desert him?"

 

"There was no hint of desertion. Every officer of note was killed or

wounded within the first twenty minutes of the assault of the storming

party--they among the number. Warwick was severely wounded. Mr. Slyde

was unconscious, and it was thought mortally wounded; but after Warwick

had staggered to the place where he had seen Lieutenant Massinger fall,

he found that he had disappeared."

 

"Then they know nothing--absolutely _nothing_!" said Hypatia. "I

thought you said there were grounds for believing----"

 

"Allow me to continue," said the Reverend Cyril. "Awariki went among

the women of the camp, of whom there were many. There she found a

cousin who had married a Ngapuhi. She seemed to have been under fire

also, as she had a bullet through her upper arm."

 

"I _should_ like to have been there," said Hypatia, her eyes lighting

up with a gathering intensity, as she gazed before her towards the

dark-hued mountains which bounded their landscape. "What did she see?"

 

"As she rushed forward through the _mêlée_--for her husband was badly

wounded--she saw the 'pakeha rangatira,' as she called him, fall,

apparently dead. A Maori was just about to tomahawk him, when Mr.

Mannering (Tao-roa, as they call him) dashed him aside, knocking him

down, and calling aloud to his people, two of whom lifted up the

pakeha, and commenced to carry him to the rear. Immediately afterwards

several women joined them, one of whom she was confident was Erena

Mannering, his daughter, who, of course, was well known to the tribe.

After this ensued the extraordinary panic of the 43rd, and all trace of

him was lost."

 

"Then they did not succeed in getting him back to the Ngapuhi camp

(isn't that the name?), and they do not know what has become of him,

after all?"

 

"Merely this, that Awariki says she is certain that if Erena had been

taken prisoner, she is a person of such importance that the whole

_hapu_ would have been sent in pursuit. She is confident that she and

the others are in safety, or else Mr. Mannering would not be at ease

and with his people."

 

"But why did she not ask him?"

 

"He is a war chief of the Ngapuhi, and she, a common person, did not

dare to address him on such a subject. It would not be _tika_, or

etiquette, breaches of which are severely punished."

 

"But what do _you_ think yourself? All this is very slender

evidence--mere hearsay, in fact."

 

"I fully believe that he is in some secure retreat, watched over by

this extraordinary girl, Erena Mannering, whose courage and devotion

have, under Providence, saved his life."

 

"May she find His mercy in her hour of need!" said Hypatia, with

clasped hands and streaming eyes. "If it be so, my soul will be freed

from a burden almost too heavy to bear. It may be hoping against

hope, but I really begin to believe that his life will be spared. That

granted by Heaven, I shall have nothing--positively _nothing_--to wish

for in the future."

 

The remaining incidents in the capture of the memorable Gate Pah were

duly recorded by Awariki for the benefit of the household--how the

sailors, the sea-warriors of the pakeha, whose raiment was of a blue

colour, they who sprang over the palisades as if they were ships'

rigging, and the men in red who fought madly and cursed always, had

been bewitched by the spell of the Tohunga of the Ngaiterangi, and had

fled. The men in big hats (the Forest Rangers), who walked through the

bush, the flax, and the fern by night and day; the Ngapuhi, who rushed

on like a breaking wave, were all in vain against the rifle-pits of the

Ngaiterangi, whereby men were killed without seeing who fired at them.

 

* * * * *

 

Passing from one mood to the other, as is wont with women whose highly

strung nervous system seems impatient of continuous action, Hypatia at

length made up her mind that Massinger was alive, and safely bestowed

in some sylvan retreat, under the care of this mysterious, fascinating

Maori girl, of whom she had already heard much.

 

The natural jealousy, invariably felt by the average woman during

the appropriation by another one of an erstwhile, probable, or even

possible lover, had no place in Hypatia's generous mind. "If only he

is alive and well, I care nothing," thought she. "That she risked her

life to save his, I can well believe. All honour to her. I am at

least guiltless of his blood. I shall always feel grateful to her, for

lifting that load from my soul."