War to the Knife 51

War to the Knife 51

"I knew," she said, bending over him with the frank tenderness of a

woman who loves passionately, and does not fear to disguise the fact,

"that if you remained longer where you fell you would stand a chance of

being tomahawked, if not worse treated. My father gave the order for

you to be carried off, and at the same time signed to me that I and my

cousin Riria were to accompany you. The cave in which you find yourself

is only known to our hapu, and has always been regarded as being

impenetrable to any one not acquainted with the secret approach."

 

"But it was evident to me," said he, "that I was shot through the

body. How was the flow of blood stopped, and the wound found not to be

dangerous?"

 

"We were told," she said, "that it was not mortal by a well-known

tohunga of our tribe, who has been left a stage behind. He will be

here tomorrow, and is a medicine-man of some repute, I can assure

you. He applied a styptic, which was successful, and found that the

bullet-wound, though it had grazed the lung, would not be dangerous,

though hard to heal."

 

"I owe everything to you, dearest Erena," he said, pressing the hand

which lay nearest to him; "and the life you have saved is yours for

ever. If I come scatheless out of this war, you will have no reason to

doubt my gratitude. How shall I ever repay you?"

 

"It is only too easy to do so," she said, as she gazed at him with

eyes that glowed with all the intensity of a woman's love, for the

first time awakened in that passionate nature. "But you must not talk

of gratitude," she continued, with a smile, "or I shall begin to doubt

whether you love me as _we_ love--in life, in death, to the grave, and

beyond it."

 

As she spoke, she wound her arms tenderly around him, and, kissing him

upon the forehead, hastily left the cave.

 

When she reappeared, bringing such food as the natives had been able to

secure, she said--

 

"Now you must eat all you can, and grow strong, as the sooner we leave

this 'Lizard's Cave,' as it is called, and get back to my father, the

better. I know that he will make for Rotorua as soon as the fighting is

over."

 

"Tell me about the Gate Pah," he said. "Our men were falling fast, were

they not?"

 

"Indeed, yes. Nearly all the officers were killed or mortally wounded

in less than a quarter of an hour. Colonel Booth died next day; the

captains of the 43rd were all killed, besides naval and volunteer

officers. The natives had determined to retreat by the rear of the pah,

but suddenly found themselves met by a detachment of the 43rd. They

rushed back, and, mingling with the soldiers, were taken by them for

a Maori reinforcement. Some one called out "Retreat!" and the troops,

having no officers, were seized with a panic, made a runaway--what you

call a rout of it."

 

Massinger groaned. "Who could have imagined it! Such a regiment as

the 43rd! Think what they did in the Peninsular war! Such things will

happen from time to time. Why didn't they _starve_ them out?"

 

"That was what my father and Waka Nene said. They were surrounded.

They had no water, and only raw potatoes to eat. In a few days they

must have given in. In Heke's war Colonel Despard made just the same

mistake. My father and Mr. Waterton were there."

 

"Tell me about it."

 

"Well, of course it was long, long ago--in 1845; but I heard my father

tell it once, and never forgot it. You heard of the Ohaieawa Pah, and

how the troops were repulsed then?"

 

"Yes; I read some account of it."

 

"It was like this fight. The pah was strongly defended, and the colonel

said he would take it by assault. My father and Mr. Waterton were

fighting along with the Ngapuhi under the chief Waka Nene. They came to

the colonel, and my father said, 'Colonel Despard, if you are going to

try to take the pah by assault before you make a breach--and you have

no artillery heavy enough--I consider it amounts to the murder of your

men, and it is my duty to tell you so. The chief Waka Nene is of the

same opinion.'

 

"'What does he know of the science of war?' said the colonel, angrily.

 

"'More than you do--that is, of Maori war,' said my father.

 

"'How dare you talk to me like that?' said the colonel, now very angry.

'I have a great mind to have you arrested.'

 

"'What does the pakeha rangatira say?' inquired Nene of Mr. Waterton,

as he saw that something serious was likely to happen.

 

"'He says he will arrest us,' said Mr. Waterton.

 

"Upon this the chief walked forward, and, looking in the colonel's

face, placed an arm on either of their shoulders. Then he said quietly--

 

"'These are _my_ pakehas. You must not touch them;' and he looked round

to his tribe, drawn up rank by rank at the foot of the hill."

 

"Well, and what happened?"

 

"The colonel turned away and said no more. The Ngapuhi tribe were

loyal to the English, and have been ever since. They would never have

conquered Heke without them."

 

"So he did attack the pah?"

 

"Yes--by bad fortune. The old chief drew his men off, and would not

join in the assault. The soldiers and sailors, also the volunteers,

tried to storm the pah, but were beaten back with dreadful loss. Many

were killed, and some taken prisoners. The natives left the pah the

next night, but it was a boast of Heke's tribe for years after that

they had beaten back a pakeha regiment of renown, and that some day, if

all the tribes would unite, they would drive the whites into the sea."

 

"It was well for us that they did not unite, by all accounts," said

Massinger; "for their numbers were greater than ours then by many

thousands. Now it is the other way, and unless they make peace their

doom is sealed."

 

"You must not talk any more," said Erena, with playful authority. "Old

Tiro-hanga will come up tomorrow, and then he will say if you can be

moved. You had better try and go to sleep."

 

* * * * *

 

The war was now virtually over. The Waikato tribes and their allies,

the Ngatiawa and the Ngatihaua, had surrendered unconditionally. The

wounded warriors, Slyde and Warwick, were in a condition to be moved to

Auckland, where rest and comfort awaited them. The military surgeon,

in releasing them from camp quarters and fare, advised them to take

advantage of all the comforts of civilization, which he believed would

effect a more speedy cure than any of the resources of his profession.

 

"You've had a narrow shave, both of you," he said--"particularly

Warwick. When I saw him first, I hardly thought he was worth carrying

to the rear. We were short of bearers, too; not like those infernal

natives who have so many women about, full of pluck, and handier than

the men for that matter. By-the-by, what's become of that young friend

of yours? It's rumoured that the Ngapuhi carried him off. Beautiful

daughter, and so on. Romantic--very."

 

"Odd thing. Don't know where he is," said Mr. Slyde. "Warwick here

means to go on the scout as soon as his blessed wound heals. We're

getting anxious."

 

"I'm not," said Warwick. "Depend on it, if Erena Mannering has him in

charge, no harm will come to him. Not a man of the Ngapuhi but would

die in his defence, always excepting that brute Ngarara. We don't know

who were killed at Orakau and who got away yet. As long as he's above

ground neither Massinger nor Erena are safe."

 

"Seems badly managed, don't it," yawned Mr. Slyde, "when so many a good

fellow has gone down, that reptile should escape? Hope for the best,

however. Feel inclined to help Providence the next time we meet. Awful

sleepy work this recovery business. I must turn in."

 

* * * * *

 

Some anxiety might have been spared to his friends if they could have

beheld Mr. Massinger at the moment of their solicitude. The sun was

declining; the shimmering plain of Rotorua lake lay calm and still,

save for a lazy ripple on the beach below the room wherein the wounded

man lay, on a couch covered with mats of the finest texture. Beside him

sat Erena, regarding him from time to time with that rapt and earnest

gaze which a woman only bestows on the man she loves or the child of

her bosom. He had rallied since the first days of his wound, but the

pallor of his countenance, and his evident weakness, told those of

experience in gunshot wounds that the progress of recovery had been

arrested. In such a case the danger is worse, say the authorities, than

in the first loss of blood and organic injury. The patient moved as if

to raise himself, but desisted, as if such effort were beyond him.

 

"I cannot think," he said, "why I do not gain strength. I do not seem

to have improved in the least; rather the other way. I wonder if there

is any injury we don't know of."

 

"Pray God there is not!" she said, bending over him, and bathing his

forehead. "My father says he never knew old Tiro-hanga's medical

knowledge to fail. He says you only want time to be as well as ever.

How many wounds has he not recovered from?"

 

"I should be more than willing to believe him," said the sick man.

"But why am I so wretchedly weak? I feel as if I would like to die and

be done with it, if I am to lie here for weeks and months. But I am a

beast to complain, after all your goodness, child," he went on to say,

as the girl's eyes filled with tears. "Please forgive me; I am weak in mind as well as body."