War to the Knife 48

War to the Knife 48

"Then you have quitted your first sphere of usefulness, may I say, for

a wider field?"

 

"I discovered," said Hypatia, "that the locality was not suited to my

age and disposition. I retired in favour of more experienced workers.

Gathering from the letters of my dear friend and schoolfellow, Mrs.

Summers, that she needed help, I decided to come here."

 

"And you did well, my dear young lady, to follow the dictates of your

heart, though I would it had happened a few years previously, when

we were all rejoicing in the fruition of our hopes and the visible

reward of years of toil and privation. Now, alas! there have been sad

backslidings, griefs, and discouragements. I have been sorely tempted

to despair; but He who has hitherto led us through the wilderness will

not abandon us now. May His blessing be upon you, my dear child, and

upon all in this household. Though terrors encompass us, we know in

whom to trust, as our Defender and Guide."

 

As he spoke, standing within sight of the mountain and the wave, with

head raised, and that noble countenance illumined with the courage that

is not of this earth--the fervent faith in things not seen--he appeared

to Hypatia as a prophet inspired, transfigured, worthy to bear His

sacred message, to speak the words of the Most High. Her overwrought

emotional feelings overpowered her. Yielding to an irresistible

impulse, she cast herself on her knees before him and cried aloud--

 

"Bless me, O my father, even me!"

 

Strongly stirred, the good bishop laid his hands solemnly upon her

head, saying--

 

"May the Lord God, Most High, Most Mighty, bless, protect, and save

thee, dear child, from all evils of body and mind, also from all the

sorrows and terrors of this distracted land. May He shield thee in the

hour of need, and may His guidance be with thee until thou art led in

safety to thy home and thy friends. For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."

 

Hypatia retired to the little room which she had occupied since her

sojourn in Oropi, feeling a renewed confidence in the vocation which

she had adopted, and a fervent resolve to persevere in the path marked

out for her, no matter what obstacles might present themselves.

 

When she appeared at the simple midday meal, all traces of emotion and

excitement had vanished. The little household talked freely of the

conclusion of the war as being at hand, and, that once an established

fact, the recovery of the country and the revival of the Church were

but matters of time.

 

"And do you think that the two races will ever agree to live in peace

and amity, after all the blood that has been shed?" asked Hypatia,

leaning forward with a rapt and eager look upon her face which reminded

the bishop of the early Christian martyrs.

 

"One may well doubt, Miss Tollemache," said he, with a sad yet

unshaken air of confidence. "The best blood of England has been shed

like water in these sieges and engagements. Still, I foresee the

termination. It cannot be distant now. The flower of the Maori warriors

and their leading chiefs lie low. All history teaches us that a

conquered people is always absorbed into the superior race in course of

time."

 

"But the difference in origin and tradition?" queried Mr. Summers.

 

"Is by no means an insuperable obstacle," answered the bishop. "In

those mixed unions which have already taken place, no degeneration of

type is apparent; indeed, to speak frankly, it has even appeared to me

that the offspring in many instances show an advance, physically and

mentally, upon both the parent stocks. I could name instances, but it

is perhaps unnecessary."

 

"We have our Joan of Arc, too," interposed Mrs. Summers; "only,

unfortunately for the romance, she is fighting or nursing, whichever it

may be, on the invaders' side."

 

"You mean Erena Mannering," said the bishop. "I know her well--or

did, rather, in the dear old past days. She is truly a noble damsel

in every sense of the word. Her Herculean father is a paladin for

valour, struggling with the tastes of a _savant_ and philosopher. In a

different age he would have stood at a monarch's right hand, or more

probably have been a conqueror in his own person. Her mother was a

chieftainess, brave, beautiful, and of long descent. No wonder that she

is a marvel of womanhood!"

 

"She is not without friends who appreciate her," said Hypatia, smiling

at the enthusiasm of the sympathetic prelate. "Fortunate girl! to be

born to a heroine's task, a heroine's applause. This is the last home

of romance, it would appear, since it has quitted Britain, at any rate

for the present."

 

"Have you heard the last rumour about her, my lord?" said Mr. Summers.

 

"No, indeed. Koihua and I came across the bush after leaving the Forest

Rangers before Orakau. I trust no harm to her is feared."

 

"No, but the situation is not wholly free from risk. A young lieutenant

of the Forest Rangers, wounded in the storming party, which was

repulsed at the Gate Pah, is reported missing. It is said that she was

seen with a small party of natives, who carried him off at the bidding

of her father, and that neither she nor he have been since heard of."

 

"In that case it is most probable that she saved his life, and, in the

absence of definite information, I should be inclined to believe that

he has been taken to a place of safety, where he will remain for the

present. What did you say his name was?"

 

"Roland Massinger."

 

"Not De Massinger of the Court, in Herefordshire--surely not?" said

the bishop, more keenly interested. "I saw him in camp when I came

from Pukerimu, poor boy! I knew his people well in England--among the

very oldest families in the land. I met him soon after his arrival in

Auckland. Whatever hard fate brought him into this disastrous strife?

But I should not say fate; rather the will of God, which often from

present chastening leads to our eventual gain. But the time draws near

for our service--the last, most probably, that I shall hold here. It

will be my farewell to these poor people, whom I have loved and prayed

for so often."

 

And as the good man retired to his chamber for the preparation

of prayer which he always held to be necessary, even in the most

thinly populated and apparently humble localities, Hypatia took

the opportunity of escaping from a conversation which threatened

embarrassing conditions.

 

Punctually at the appointed hour, the bell of the little church

having sounded for the canonical time, the man of God walked through

the crowd of dark-skinned proselytes, who awaited his arrival with

unaffected reverence; and murmurs of approbation were heard as he

paced with solemn steps towards the humble building, for which many

of those present had contributed labour or materials. Yet were not

all fully agreed. Some of the older men had been acted upon by the

disaffected of the tribe, and hardly concealed their distrust of the

pihopa, who went between the contending forces, and might, perhaps,

convey information to their foes. This allegation, openly made at the

rebel camp, caused the good bishop the most poignant grief--to think

that his people, his children in the Lord, as he fondly called them,

should distrust him, who for them, for their present advantage and

eternal weal, had sacrificed the intellectual luxuries of the parent

land, his place among the noble and the great, all the unspeakable

social advantages which await the distinguished son of literature and

the Church in Britain! And for what? To live in self-imposed exile in

a distant colony, among a barbarous people but recently redeemed from

the grossest heathen practices! It was more than discouraging, it was

heartbreaking, to one of his sensitive temperament and fervent spirit.

 

The service of the Church of England was read by Mr. Summers. Hypatia

was touched by the manner in which the responses were made by young

and old. Nowhere in the world could more earnestness have been shown,

less apparent wavering from the appointed ritual, which was wholly in

the Maori tongue. She had made sufficient progress in the language to

follow easily--a task lightened by the preponderance of vowels and the

disuse of the perplexing consonants so frequent in European tongues. A

greater advance can be made in Maori in a shorter time than in almost

any living language. There is much of the _ore rotundo_ claimed for the

noble fundamental languages, which now only survive among degenerate

descendants of the orators, warriors, statesmen, and artists, who,

while they rolled out the sonorous sentences, swayed the known world

with their pre-eminence in arts and arms, speech and song.

 

The prayers of the Anglican Church were concluded. Then the great

apostle of the South Seas ascended an ornate pulpit, the gift of a few

English friends of Mr. Summers, the carving of which had much impressed

the native congregation, themselves by no means without practice in

this ancient section of art. In his sermon--short, fervent, and chiefly

persuasive--he appealed to those better feelings which the teaching

of the missionary clergy, of whatever denomination, had been chiefly

desirous of fostering. "What," he asked, "had been the condition of

the tribes before that great and good man Marsden, the pioneer pastor,

came among them? War unbridled, ruthless, remorseless, with its

accompaniments still more dreadful--slavery, torture, child-murder, the

eating of human flesh, practices which, to their honour be it spoken,

the Maoris as a nation had discontinued. Were they not ashamed of these

things?" ("Yes, yes!" from the assembled crowd.) "Who had taught them

to be ashamed of these things? The missionary clergy, the pakeha from

beyond the seas. Who had given them the seed, the grain, the potato,

the domestic animals, the tools of iron, from which they now reaped

such abundant harvests and stores of produce? Bread, flour-mills,

garden-seeds and vegetables,--all these came from the pakeha. Who

taught them the use of all these things? The Mikonaree. He laboured

with his hands, he lived poorly, he coveted nothing for himself, he

only held a small portion of their waste lands on which to grow food

for himself and his family.

 

"He had done all this. But he had done more. He had taught them to

worship the only true God, and His Son Jesus Christ our Lord--the God

of mercy, of truth, of charity, of peace. And had they not lived in

peace, in plenty, in good will among themselves, until this war arose,

which was now raging to the destruction of Maori and pakeha alike? Who

counselled this shedding of blood, this burning of pahs? The clergy?

No. They knew that the voice of every clergyman, every missionary in