In the grip of the Hawk: A story of the Maori wars

CHAPTER VI

THE STORY OF THE GREENSTONE MERE

Te Turi, my ancestor, one day called to him his two friends, Te Weri, the Centipede, and Te Waerau, the Crab, whom he loved best after Ngahue, and taking a sailing canoe, with three men to row upon windless days, set out from Te Ika A Maui on a course to the south.

And when they had sailed for many days, they came to the mouth of a river, and there they ate food and landed.

CHAPTER VII

STORM SIGNALS

Valuable as he knew the greenstone mere to be, both intrinsically and on account of its romantic history, it was with a new and deeper interest that George regarded it at the conclusion of Te Kaihuia's legend of its origin. Of course the story of its supernatural appearance and manufacture was a fairy-tale which—he gave an unmistakable start, and a grim smile curled the thin lips of the old Maori, who was watching him intently.

There, on the narrow end, or handle, of the club were three deeply set impressions, which exactly resembled the imprint of two fingers and a thumb.

The mineral nephrite, or greenstone, is singularly hard and unyielding, and how these peculiar marks came to be made upon the club George concluded to leave to the antiquaries to solve; for, needless to say, the old chief's version of their cause counted for nothing with him. But he was far too courteous to allow his incredulity to appear before the venerable narrator, whom he warmly thanked as he rose to take his leave.

Te Kaihuia took the young fellow's strong hand in both his own.

'I have yet a word for you, Hortoni,' he said gravely. 'Never allow the mere to be far from your hand. Danger lurks we know not where. Hear now my word.'

Wondering whether the old man's mysteriously given advice held a covert warning of impending trouble, George went below and locked the greenstone club in a sea-chest which the dead captain had lent him. Moreover, he determined to wear the weapon during his night-watches on deck, in case of treachery such as his aged friend had seemed vaguely to hint at.

Trouble, indeed, was nearer than he thought; but it was not to come—in the first instance, at all events—from Te Karearea and his Maoris.

Late that night as George swung in his hammock, he was awakened by something jolting against his body, and, peering drowsily over the edge, saw a line of dark figures stealing cautiously up the ladder. In a flash he leaped lightly to the floor and collared the hindmost of the procession.

'You, Bigham!' he exclaimed as the fo'c'sle lamp illumined the face of his captive. 'How comes the leader of the mutiny to bring up the rear?'

Bigham gave himself away at once. 'We knew you wouldn't approve,' he whispered, 'so we thought we'd surprise you when the thing was done.'

George flew into one of his rare rages. 'You ass! It will be a mercy if one of us is left alive when the thing is done. Call back the men. Quick! There is no time to lose.'

But Bigham's Lancashire obstinacy resented this interference, and with a sudden twist he darted on deck, saying huskily, 'Let them laugh as win.'

Slipping on his trousers, George made all haste after him, but the night was so dark that he could not make out the stations of the conspirators. Neither could he hear the soft pad, pad of the bare-footed sentries.

'Curious if the guards have been withdrawn on this night of all others,' he mused. 'If I don't encounter our men in another minute, I'll shout and rouse the ship. Better Bigham's wrath than the slaughter which is sure to follow this senseless provocation of a friendly foe.'

Fearful of delay and its bitter consequences, he drew in his breath for a shout, when, sudden as a lightning flash, a column of fire shot into the air, illumining the black recesses of the brig. And, as it flared, the quiet night was shaken by an appalling yell, shouts and oaths, the tramp and shuffle of naked feet, the sound of shots and heavy blows, all horribly mixed with screams of rage and hate.

'It is all up!' muttered George, filled with resentment against the stupid mate. 'The rising is none of my doing; but parole or no parole, I can't stand by and see white men done to death by Maori criminals.' He raised his voice to a shout. 'Bigham! Call to me!'

No answer! Then out of the gloom a tall figure leaped at him with uplifted arm and smote strongly downwards.

George had neither heard nor seen the Maori's approach, though he actually turned at that moment as if to face the threatening danger. The first thing of which he was really conscious was the sound of a blow and the jarring shock which ran from his fingers to his shoulder. Then to his amazement a stalwart Maori fell with a thud and lay dead or badly wounded at his feet.

Experience has shown that, during the excitement bred of extreme peril, one may perform many actions by instinct, or, at least, that one's conscious intelligence does not appear to be fully at work. And now so stupefied was George at the sequence of events, that he stood staring down at the body of the Maori without the slightest comprehension of what had happened.

The light of the fire flared towards him, illumining the thing he held in his hand. It was a greenstone club—his own; for he could distinctly see the odd markings upon it.

How was this? he asked himself. Was it possible that Te Kaihuia's story—Oh, nonsense! ... Still, how came the mere to his hand? He had locked it away in his sea-chest.... He had never thought of it when he rushed on deck at the heels of Bigham.... What could it mean?

Thoughts are lightning quick, and but little time passed, as George stood fixed and immovable beside the prostrate Maori, before another tall form loomed suddenly out of the dark, and a familiar voice said in Maori: 'Salutations, O friend! The fight is begun. Let the wise look on while the fools strive with one another.'

'Come and help me stop the conflict,' began George, when Te Karearea, catching sight of the still form, interrupted sternly: 'What is this, Hortoni? Had I not your promise? Wherefore have you slain my young man?'

'I—I hope he is not dead,' stammered George. 'I suppose I struck him, but—oh, I dare say you won't believe me, Chief; but I knew nothing of this foolish affair until a few minutes ago, and I did my best to stop it.'

Te Karearea drew a lantern from the folds of his mat, held it up, and looked keenly into George's eyes. Then all at once his haughty glare gave place to a look of abject terror. 'W-w-what is that in your hand, Hortoni?' he asked, in a voice vibrating with intense feeling.

'The club? It is a present which Te Kaihuia gave me after I pulled him out of the water. He—why, what's the matter?'

For Te Karearea, in what appeared to be mortal affright, reeled backwards to the bulwarks, and only saved himself from a heavy fall by clinging to the rail. 'The mere! The mere of TUMATAUENGA!' he shrieked, in a voice so shrill that it rose above the lessening din of conflict.

George was growing confused amid the maze of events through which he was threading his way, but the incongruity of the position struck him even then. Only a few yards distant strife was raging, bullets actually sang over their heads, and yet there they stood, discussing other matters, as if nothing out of the common were happening. There was, however, an explanation of Te Karearea's unconcern with the fight, which George did not receive till later.

All that had occurred since he came on deck occupied far less time than has been required to write of it; nevertheless, he was growing anxious about the fate of Bigham and the crew. So, pointing aft, where the struggle waned to a close, he said: 'While we talk here, O Chief, blood is flowing over there. It is time to stop the mischief.'

'The blood of the Pakehas is upon their own heads, Hortoni,' retorted Te Karearea, who had recovered his equanimity, and now slowly sauntered after George towards the scene of the fray.

As they came up, Bigham, who was unhurt, greeted George with words of scorn. 'There you are, Mr. Haughton, with your brown friend, safe enough, I dare say. I hope you like your position. Had you joined us, things might have been different.'

'They would, indeed!' A voice close to George just breathed the words.

'Did you speak, Chief?' he asked sharply.

'Nay; I said nought, Hortoni,' was the smooth answer.

'Of course he would deny it,' thought George. 'What was his meaning, I wonder.' He turned to Bigham. 'I gave you fair warning that I would take no part in your wild schemes. However, we can discuss later your grievance against me. How many of your men are hurt?'

Another surprise, but this time an agreeable one. It was Te Karearea who replied: 'None, Hortoni. I had knowledge of Big Man's plot—it matters not how.' George thought that he knew. 'I gave orders, therefore, that at a certain moment every Pakeha on deck should be secured—save only yourself,' with a courteous bow. 'So Big Man and those with him walked into my trap which I had set, and my young men have done as I bade them—all save the stupid Paeroa, who blundered up against you, and—and—the mere of TUMATAUENGA smote him.'

There was a tremulous note in his voice, and he glanced furtively over his shoulder, while his lips moved as he muttered something beneath his breath.

At their chief's last words the Maoris huddled together in awed surprise, and some of them followed his example and murmured a karakia, or charm, to keep off invisible powers.

Again George was puzzled. What was the matter with every one to-night? At the same time he was greatly relieved; but, not wishing to show his satisfaction too plainly, rallied the chief upon his manifest trepidation.

'Since there are no dead men, why do you mutter a karakia, O Hawk of the Mountain?' he said. 'Are you afraid that Taniwha will come out of the sea and——'

He broke off in amazement, for Te Karearea's teeth were chattering and his eyes rolling wildly. Evidently he was under the dominion of some fearful emotion. Thrice he essayed to speak and thrice failed, while the Maoris, comprehending nothing but the one awesome word, and perceiving, as they thought, its effect upon their leader, shrank away, quaking with dread and muttering, 'Taniwha! Taniwha!' in terror of what might happen even now.

In the light of the dying flare Bigham caught George's eye. His look plainly said: 'You have thrown these fellows into such a mortal funk by something you have said, that, at a sign from you, the crew will take heart and sweep the whole lot into the sea before they know where they are.'

Something like this George read in the mate's expression, and for one instant he hesitated. Was he indeed bound to keep a parole given under such circumstances? And then the deeply rooted principles, early implanted, asserted themselves. The word of a gentleman, once passed, even to a 'darned nigger,' must be sacred. With an almost imperceptible shake of the head at Bigham, he turned again to Te Karearea, whose composure was by this time restored, and demanded his intentions with regard to the twice-taken prisoners.

Te Karearea, with his head turned aside, laughed shortly and waved his hand with a gesture implying that the behaviour of a few foolish Pakehas was unworthy of his serious consideration, and his men, quick to understand him, released their hold of the dejected sailors and allowed them to make their way below.

Truly no great harm had been done in the scuffle, save for a broken head or two; for the mate and his men, unarmed as they were—even their jack-knives had been taken from them—had relied upon the shock of surprise to drive the Maori guards below and batten them under hatches, among the mass of sleepers.

Even chance could hardly have favoured so stupid a plan, and, had it not been for Te Karearea's foreknowledge of the time of the attack, the white men must have fared ill in the struggle. As it was, the Maoris had obeyed orders, and contented themselves with overpowering their prisoners, while for greater moral effect they discharged their guns in the air—to the infinite danger of George and Te Karearea, past whom the leaden missiles sang spitefully during their conversation in the waist.

Feeling that he could do no less, George now sought a fitting compliment upon the generous clemency of the chief; but, as the latter faced him, there was something so sinister in the whole aspect of the man, so basilisk-like was the stare of the stony and, for once, unwinking eyes, that the young Englishman thrilled with the conviction that beneath this seeming forbearance lurked an unsatisfied hate, which would presently demand a sterner, because belated, vengeance.

He now felt sure that Te Karearea had only held his hand from a general massacre from interested motives, and knew that he would not be able to breathe freely until the Maoris had been set on shore and gone their way into the interior.

Determined to warn Bigham, George sought out the mate next morning, and to his annoyance found him already engaged in entertaining the chief with the few words of Maori he had at command. These he eked out by the free use of English, which he seemed to think was certain to be understood, provided that each word was delivered in a stentorian bellow.

Te Karearea greeted George very civilly, and smilingly claimed his services as interpreter. Presently he inquired, carelessly enough, what the mate intended to do after setting him and his Maoris ashore. George put this question with the greatest reluctance to the thick-skulled Bigham, who replied with genial truculence that not only would he raise the countryside in pursuit, but would take a hand in it himself, just for the pleasure of having a smack at the 'brown beast,' as he styled the dignified chief.

George toned down this senseless bombast as far as he could, but the ill-suppressed sneer upon Te Karearea's thin lips convinced him that the latter perfectly understood all that the mate had so absurdly threatened. However, the chief laughed heartily, and, when George at last got Bigham away from him, the mate would listen to no suggestion of a disguised ill-will. But he promised to abstain from further plotting, and from this George extracted such comfort as he could.

Towards evening George paid a visit to the man whom he had so mysteriously felled the night before, and who was reported to be doing well. He still carried the greenstone club in his belt, and when he entered the deck-house—which had been converted into a sick-bay—found Paeroa with a bandaged head and looking ill and weary, but with a fire in his eye which argued deep resentment.

But to the Englishman's amazement, no sooner had he crossed the threshold, than Paeroa clasped his hand in both his own, sank upon one knee, and poured out a torrent of musically sounding words.

'Hortoni, beloved of the gods, master of the mere of TUMATAUENGA,' he said, 'Te Kaihuia has spoken with me and has given me a word. O great one, who callest up the wind at will, I thank thee for my life; for surely hadst thou struck to slay, I had been slain.'

'Stop! What are you saying?' interjected George, but Paeroa's speech flowed on.

'Behold now, Hortoni, because thou heldest back the strong arm of TUMATAUENGA, I will follow thee. Whithersoever thou goest, be it over the mountain or along the plain, through the deep forest or in the green meadows, over the land or across the sea, whether there be peace, or whether there be war, I am thy man, and I will follow thee. Hear now the word which Paeroa has spoken.'

George was wonderstruck, and, though far from understanding the motives which moved the Maori to this extraordinary act of self-abasement, was touched by the poor fellow's sincerity and by his devotion to one who, however unwittingly, had done him serious injury. He knew that it would be utterly useless to try to disabuse the man of the belief that he had held back some potent force from destroying him, so, smiling in his peculiarly engaging way upon the young Maori, he replied:

'O Paeroa, I thank you. When you get ashore, you must leave the rascals by whom you are surrounded, rejoin your tribe, and try to keep out of trouble for the future.'

This speech sounded like bathos after the high-sounding periods in which the Maori had addressed him, but Paeroa's sole reply was: 'I have spoken, Hortoni'; whereupon George, a good deal embarrassed, wished him a speedy recovery and rather hurriedly took his leave.

Young Haughton was by no means too credulous, and with regard to the incident of the previous night had come to the matter-of-fact conclusion that he must have unlocked his chest and withdrawn the greenstone club without, in his excitement, noticing what he was about. Yet he very clearly recognised the powerful influence which the tradition of its origin would exert upon the superstitious Maoris, and he determined to wear it continually during the short remainder of his association with them.

As he was pacing the deck after his interview with Paeroa, Te Karearea approached him, and with a grave salute requested permission to speak with him upon a matter of importance.

The chief lost no time in coming to the point. For an instant, as his eyes fell upon the greenstone club, the same extraordinary change passed over his face as on the previous day; but he speedily recovered himself, and in tense, vibrating tones began:

'I have a word for you, O Hortoni!'

'Say it, friend,' answered George laconically.

'There are no lies under my tongue, and my heart is clean,' pursued the chief. 'Ha! I am not as the Pakehas, in whom is nought but guile. I except you, my friend.'

George bowed.

'I will swallow the Pakehas as the sea swallows the little pebbles upon the shore,' went on the chief. 'War shall there be round about the land until the last of the accursed race be driven into Moana (ocean); for God is with me and with them whose priest I am, and His strength shall dwell in our arms until we make an end of slaying because there is no longer a Pakeha to be slain.'

His voice rolled and swelled into a chant as the soft gutturals poured out, an impetuous flood, and as he paused, glaring at George, his deep-set eyes flashed, and the expression upon his scarred face was very grim.

'To what end do you speak thus to me, O Chief?' inquired George.

'To this end, Hortoni,' cried the Maori. 'Cast off the accursed race to whom you have belonged till now, and come in among us! Be my Pakeha and the Pakeha of my hapu (tribe). So shall we be honoured, and we will honour you and give you a Maori wahine (woman) to wife. Land without measure shall be yours, and you shall dwell among us as a great chief in power and peace, until they come to carry you to Reinga. This is my word to you, O Hortoni!'

'And hear you my word, O insulter of a strong race!' cried George indignantly. 'Who you are I know not, nor whose priest you claim to be. But this I know, O fool! The Pakeha is an eagle upon a mountain peak, and the eagle shall swoop upon the hawk and clutch it in his mighty talons and rend it into little pieces, which shall be scattered to the north and to the south and to the east and to the west. So shall there be an end of the stupid hawk. This is my word to you, O Te Karearea!'

The rage which laid hold of Te Karearea at this uncompromising rejection of his singular proposal was so clearly exhibited, that George stepped back a pace and suggestively dropped his hand upon his greenstone club. The chief shrank back at once, controlled his wrath by a mighty effort, and stalked away, sending over his shoulder a Parthian shaft in the words:

'You may yet dwell many days in my hapu, Hortoni, before you call the eagle to rend the hawk.'

CHAPTER VIII

THE STORM BURSTS

The gloom which hung over the fo'c'sle when day at length dawned was in no wise lightened by the futility of all efforts to discover the cause of the weird sounds of the night. George was, perhaps, the only one who had not actually attributed the discordant din to a supernatural source; but since more than one uncommonly odd happening had chanced of late, even he would have found it a relief to be assured upon one point, no matter what.

As the day wore towards evening and the Stella neared the coast, the Maoris crowded into the bows, laughing and singing, as the deep blue line of hills gradually took on natural colours, and showed as forest-clad slopes, fronted by bare, frowning cliffs. Nor were the whites less elated at the approach of the hour of parting, for they were anxious to be relieved of an enforced service, not only irksome in itself, but grown to be fraught with positive danger.

Te Karearea intended to disembark shortly before sunset at Whareongaonga, a point some fifteen miles south of the Bay of Turanga, or Poverty Bay, as Captain Cook had named it, and thence to march inland and disappear in the dense bush which stretched for miles towards the north. As if to forestall any tricks on the part of the white sailors, the brig was kept swinging from one tack to the other all through the afternoon, keeping always a couple of miles off shore, and George, who was using his eyes, liked the look of things less and less; for all the men of the chief's company, fully armed, kept the deck during the whole of the day. Seizing an opportunity, he communicated his fears to Bigham.

'Pooh! You're always looking for bogies, Mr. 'Aughton,' was the mate's sneering reply. 'You don't see me grizzling.'

'You were not very far from grizzling, as you call it, last night,' George was stung to retort.

'That was very different,' protested the mate, flushing through his weather-beaten skin. You weren't too keen yourself about going on deck.'

'You are right,' George admitted frankly. 'I don't think that I ever was so frightened in my life—and by a mere sound, too.'

This conquered Bigham. 'Well, you didn't act so,' he said; 'and that sound was worse than any flesh-and-blood thing, however terrifying. Yet you faced it, whatever it was. No,' affirmed Bigham; 'I never meant to hint as you was wanting in pluck, sir. All I meant was as I don't think the niggers will try on any games, for I judge they'll be only too glad to get rid of us.

George assented, but without conviction.

'Any way, sir, you'll admit they haven't treated us as bad as might have been expected.' He made a wry face, recollecting his recent failure.

'True; but even at the eleventh hour they could hardly have got on without us, had the weather changed, or—— However, let that go. One thing I will ask of you. Should any of them offer provocation, take no notice. All we want is to be well rid of them.'

'You are right, sir,' assented Bigham; 'and you have been right all along. I'll warn the men.' Which, for a Lancashire man, was a very notable surrender.

Greatly relieved, George turned from the mate to find Te Karearea at his elbow, all smiles and courtesy. 'We part soon, Hortoni,' he began, 'and the Maori will again set foot in his own land, whence the Pakeha unjustly drove him.'

Resentment still smouldered in George at the insolent proposal made to him, but, mindful of his own advice to Bigham, he answered lightly: 'Possibly the Pakeha may endeavour to repeat his performance.'

'When a bird has screamed to the eagle the whereabouts of the hawk?' queried the chief, grinning.

'Oh, let us have peace for the short time we are to be together,' pleaded George. 'You have not treated us badly. We will remember that and forget the rest.'

'So be it,' agreed the chief, and took himself off as he had come, smiling.

The hour arrived at last, and the brig, after a final tack, stood in close to the shore and dropped her anchor. The boats were got away and the women rowed ashore, but George noticed with misgiving that the men were distributed in scattered groups among the sailors, six or seven to each white man. He himself was separated by some ten feet or so from the nearest man of his own colour, and between them were as many Maoris. Bigham was leaning on the starboard rail, endeavouring to chat with those about him; but the brown men paid little heed to what he said, for their eyes were ever screwing this way and that, and their faces wore the strained, expectant look of those who await an assured crisis.

Staring hard at Bigham, George managed to flash an eye-signal, 'Be on your guard!' and the mate stiffened from his lounging attitude and laid his hand carelessly upon a belaying pin. Nearer and nearer drew the returning boats, and at last, as they grated against the side, Te Karearea, who had been leaning contemplatively against the mainmast, raised his right hand.

For one instant there was tense silence. Then this was shattered by a wild and deafening yell, which the hills gave back in a hundred diminishing echoes, and, as the Maoris rushed towards the side, a young chief, Te Pouri—the Melancholy One—stumbled heavily against one of the sailors. The man retaliated with a sweep of his arm which sent Te Pouri reeling backwards into collision with a second seaman. This one, taking his cue from his messmate, shoved the Maori forward with such violence that he must have fallen, but for the support of the crowd into which he dived.

The incident passed in a flash, but as Te Pouri recovered his balance, another yell arose—this time a howl of hate, charged with the lust of vengeance long deferred—and in a moment sharp spears stabbed this way and that, piercing the shrinking flesh, while club and axe, whirled aloft by sinewy arms, fell with sickening thud upon the yielding bone.

The man who had heedlessly begun the trouble was the first to go down, split from crown to chin by a terrible stroke of Te Pouri's long-handled tomahawk. Then George, who for a second had stood in frozen horror at the awful suddenness of the change, leaped into the press, striking right and left with his fists.

Even in the hot excitement of the fight, he noticed with dull surprise that the Maoris merely ducked to avoid, or warded off his blows as best they could, without attempting to harm him. Ahead of him he could see Bigham, belaying-pin in hand, smashing a path through the packed brown forms, while, ringing high above the din of conflict, he heard the voice of Te Karearea shrieking to his men to hold their hands.

But George had scant time for observation, or for thought over the inexplicable attitude of Te Karearea, whom he had certainly credited with engineering this massacre; for scarcely had he rushed into the thick of the fray, than he was pulled down upon his back and pinned to the deck by sheer weight of numbers.

The next thing he saw was his greenstone club in the hands of Te Karearea, who grinned at him, crying: 'Fear nought, Hortoni. I will stop these dogs in their worrying.' With which he bounded into the fight, aiming a blow at one of his own men which would certainly have left the fellow few brains to think with, had he not ducked at the critical moment, with the result that Te Karearea's mere, cleaving the air downwards, met with terrific shock the upward sweep of Bigham's belaying-pin.

So severe was the jar, that the club, unsecured by its wrist-loop, flew out of Te Karearea's hand over the side, and fell into the water, just as Bigham, last survivor of the miserable crew, leaped through the open gangway into the sea. There was an instant swirl of lithe black bodies below the surface, and with a shrill yell the mate sank beneath the waves and was seen no more.

With a loud cry of wrath and despair Te Karearea rushed to the gangway, and at his word a dozen tall fellows sprang upon the rail and made ready to dive after the mere. But a number of dark, triangular fins rose slowly to the surface, and the men instantly jumped to the deck, nor could all Te Karearea's prayers and threats avail to induce them to risk entering Reinga through such dreadful portals. Whereupon, the chief sullenly ordered half a dozen of them into a boat with instructions to drag the sea-bottom until the greenstone club should be recovered. First, however, the dead bodies of the sailors, along with the corpse of an old Maori, who had been somehow crushed to death in the fight, were hove overboard, and shortly afterwards guns were fired into the water, the surface flogged with oars, and hideous noises raised to scare away the watchful sharks, which was now less difficult to do. But, though dredgers and divers did their best, the whereabouts of the mere remained undiscovered.

The whole terrible scene had been enacted with frightful swiftness, and, notwithstanding Te Karearea's apparent efforts to restrain his men, and his solicitude for his captive's welfare—which the latter was far from understanding—George felt convinced that the crafty Maori was at the bottom of this and the other tragedies which had marked the ill-omened voyage of the Stella.

While the interest of all was centred upon those who were searching for the greenstone mere, George became conscious of a lightening of the top-weights, and instantly put all his strength into an upward heave, which sent the fellow who was sitting upon him rolling on the deck, while, at the same moment, he jerked himself free from the others, sprang up, and made a dash for the gangway.

With loud yells the Maoris closed in upon him from all sides, but, though the odds were all against him, the Englishman's fighting blood was up; he struck hard and fast, and Te Pouri received such a tremendous blow in the eye, that he danced and howled with the agony of it. An instant later, with a look of fiendish malignity, he swept through the press and came upon George from behind.

Within striking distance he stopped, swung up and poised the cruel tomahawk, ready for the smashing downstroke which would have crashed through scalp and skull and brain, when a piercing yell was heard, and George, glancing in the direction of the sound, saw Te Karearea bounding towards him, spear in rest.

Instinctively the young man swerved to one side as far as the close-packed throng would allow, and the movement saved his life. For just then the tomahawk smashed downwards, missing his head by a bare inch, while the flat of it, fortunately, struck his shoulder with such force as to send his arm numb to his side, and bring him to his knees.

He was confusedly aware of swiftly parting brown bodies before the onrush of the chief; he heard the soft thud of impact between spear and flesh, a loud scream of mortal agony, and then the sky was blotted out from his dazed eyes as a heavy body toppled upon him, crushing him down, and forcing his head with fearful violence against the deck. Then for a space he knew no more.

No one ventured to protest against this summary execution; for their chief's word was law, and they knew it. All were aware that Te Pouri had disobeyed Te Karearea's order that, at whatever cost, Hortoni should be spared, and, as death was the penalty of disobedience, death, swift and inexorable, had been meted out to him.

When George came to his senses some hours later, he was in a litter, being carried he knew not whither; but, though it was too dark to make out details, it was clear that the coast had been left behind, and that Te Karearea had set out for his destination—wherever that might be—under the friendly cover of night.

As the dreadful scenes of the past afternoon came vividly back to him, the ghastly memories so distressed George that presently he became feverish, moving restlessly upon his litter, and reviewing in mild delirium the varied events of the voyage and its horrible conclusion. But ere long the tangled skein of thought knotted suddenly, and, soothed by the pure, fragrant air of the bush, the gentle, swinging motion, and the soft, monotonous chant of the bearers, he fell into a sound, refreshing sleep.

Morning at length shot up over the tall pines which rose erect and towering without a branch for a hundred feet and more, and the litter was set down at the base of a gigantic tree-fern, whose bright green fronds spread tent-wise over the invalid, who still slept, unaware of the gentle hands which now, as at intervals during the march, renewed the cool dressings which had soothed his pain and calmed his shaken brain.

But when George at last opened his eyes, a pretty Maori girl came running up, and with great solicitude inquired after his welfare. The young man thanked her and tried to rise, but fell back, giddy and confused, whereupon the girl renewed the dressings and warned him to lie still until breakfast was ready. He followed her sound advice, and, when he had eaten what he could of the food she presently served upon wooden platters, felt decidedly better.

The Maoris had marched throughout the greater part of the night, and now they sprawled upon the soft green grass in restful attitudes, some of them asleep, others busily oiling the locks of the rifles and revolvers they had looted from the brig, while others again were breakfasting and chatting with a light-hearted gaiety which gave little suggestion of the bloody drama of the previous day.

As his mind cleared George began to review his position. His weakness made it imperative that he should rest for the present, but he determined to escape as soon as possible, and, after communicating with his father—whose anxiety, he felt, must by this time be very great—hunt up Terence's regiment and enlist without attracting the notice of Colonel Cranstoun. Failing this last, he would join the Rangers—but first of all he must get away.

Suddenly the maze of thought into which he had wandered took a new turn, for he remembered to have seen Te Karearea charging down upon him with levelled spear. Why, then, had the chief turned the point of the weapon aside? He was sorely puzzled to discover the reason. Of course he had no knowledge of the death of Te Pouri at the hands of the chief; but, even had he known of it, the mystery would only have deepened.

His reflections were cut short by the arrival of Te Karearea himself, who saluted his prisoner in his customary courteous and dignified way, and sincerely hoped that none but the most trifling consequences would ensue from the injuries he had received.

Notwithstanding the disgust with which the chief inspired him, for he believed him to be a wholesale murderer, George had too much tact to show his feelings, and so, perhaps, ruin his chances. So he replied politely to the chief's greeting.

'But I am not very clear about it all,' he added; 'for the last thing I recall is the sight of you rushing at me with a levelled spear. So how—how——' he shook his head, bewildered.

Te Karearea grinned at this, and hailing one of his lieutenants who was passing, said:

'Speak, O Winata Pakaro, and tell Hortoni what befell as the light went out of his eyes. I tell not the tale, Hortoni, for I know that you distrust me—not without reason, perhaps, from your point of view.' He nodded to his subordinate, who drew for George a vivid word-picture of the events which had accompanied his downfall.

George had no choice but to believe the story, and he felt completely mystified. Why should the possession of him be accounted so precious that even the life of a valuable fighting-man was not allowed to weigh down the scale against it?

But Te Karearea dismissed Winata Pakaro and broke in upon his thoughts with a question which sent flying what little power of comprehension was left to him. 'Have you yet recovered your mere, Hortoni?' the chief inquired blandly.

George stared up at him. 'Are my wits wandering again?' he said. 'Do you seriously ask that question? You know as well as I do that the greenstone club went to the bottom of the sea.'

'Nevertheless, I ask you whether you have yet recovered it,' persisted the chief; whereat George, weakened by his accident, grew peevish. 'Am I then a magician, O Te Karearea?' he snapped back.

Te Karearea's rich brown skin turned curiously sallow, and he recoiled a step. 'Far be it from me to offend you, Hortoni,' he said submissively. 'You are not a wizard if you say you are not. I do but ask if you have got back your mere?'

'Why, you are saying it again!' roared George, whose head was aching with the strain of so much excitement. 'Are you mad that you bother me with such stupid questions? Do you think that I have the thing about me? Wizard be hanged! I know your supersti—— Eh! What! Well, I never! Here! Hi! Come back, Chief!' For Te Karearea, offended, or scared, by this unusual outburst, was stalking off.

At George's hail he turned again, hesitated, and then hastened eagerly to his captive's side.

As for George, his face was a study. The most unbounded astonishment expressed itself in every line as he half-sat, half-reclined, with the mere of TUMATAUENGA laid loosely across his open palms.

'I know no more than you do where it came from,' he said, looking up helplessly at the chief.

'Oh, of course not,' sneered Te Karearea. 'May be RANGI cast it into your lap, or perchance TUMATAUENGA came and gave it you just now when my back was turned. Anything is possible, for there it lies.'

Te Karearea'a face had grown hideous to behold. He rolled his eyes until they appeared to be turned inside out, he poked out his tongue until it nearly touched his chest, while bitter words came in labouring grunts, as he shook his crooked hands impotently in the air. At last by a mighty effort he controlled himself. 'But I knew that it would return,' he muttered. 'Yes; I was sure of it.'

George, though utterly bewildered, was quick to see the advantage which the recovery of the club carried with it, and now rather regretted that he had so openly shown his astonishment. However, he was quite safe in that regard, for, not to put too fine a point upon it, Te Karearea regarded his disclaimer as a lie told for some personal reason, and the appearance of the mere itself as evidence of strong magical powers on the part of Hortoni.

He was intensely annoyed that, once having gained possession of the beautiful, mystic weapon, he should have lost it; but he had his game to play, and it was no part of it to quarrel with his prisoner. So he changed the subject, and, reverting to the question of parole, said:

'Give me your word again, Hortoni, and you shall go out and come in among us as though you were really one of ourselves.'

'I am obliged to you,' George returned sourly, not overpleased with the compliment, which smacked rather too strongly of the Pakeha-Maori. But he concluded to agree, since he could not hope to escape until he had regained his strength, and so replied:

'I give you my parole for one week. At the end of that time we will talk again.'

And Te Karearea, perforce content with this, withdrew.

Quite exhausted by all the excitement he had gone through, and knowing that his coveted greenstone was safe while the aroma of present magic clung to it, George lay down once more, and, after vainly trying to explain how that which he had seen falling into the sea should be found beneath his mats, once more forgot his puzzles and his troubles in sleep.

He slept almost all round the clock, awaking next morning considerably later than the sun. The march had evidently been resumed during his long unconsciousness, and the litter was now set behind a boulder on the top of a small hill, below which dense bush spread out over a succession of smaller mounds to the valley. Food and water had been placed near him, but not a Maori could be seen.

George, having breakfasted, felt much better, though still stiff and sore, and presently the unusual silence and absence of all signs of life struck him oddly, and he began to look about him.