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.'
George turned from the mate to find Te Karearea at his elbow. (page 79).
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.
'What can have become of all my rascals?' he wondered, and just then the silence was stirred by a long wailing cry, which rose and fell plaintively on the still air. 'A weka[1] calling to its mate,' thought George, as the melancholy note sounded again in the depths of the valley.
He began somewhat stiffly to descend the hill, when he was startled by a harsh, imperative whisper close beside him: 'Lie down, Hortoni! Quick, lie down!'
Then, as he stared this way and that, seeing no one, a lithe brown form rose from the other side of the rock beside which he stood, compelled him with heavy hand to the ground, and sank out of sight as swiftly and noiselessly as it had arisen.
And as George, obedient to the pressure upon his shoulder, crouched under the rock, a bullet flattened itself with sulky smack upon the face of the boulder behind him, while, even as it dropped to the ground, the crack of a rifle floated up from the valley.
[1] Ocydromus australis, the wood-hen.