In the Grip of the Hawk: A Story of the Maori Wars by Reginald Horsley - HTML preview

CHAPTER XXII
 THE DOOM OF THE HOUSE OF TE TURI

Terence opened his mouth to shout a warning to the sleepers to be up and away, but, his bush training coming to his aid, he shut it with a snap.

'I don't think that they have seen me,' he thought; 'but it is too late to run now, at all events.'

He wondered why the advancing Maoris should exercise such caution when, apparently, not a foe was near. 'It must be their way,' he concluded; 'and as one never knows when——'

The unspoken words jumbled in his brain and his eyes grew round. Two of the Maoris, crawling from point to point, had suddenly and instantaneously disappeared, heads down and heels up.

'They have found it!' Terence muttered grimly. 'What a nuisance.' He laid his hand on George's shoulders, who at once opened his eyes, but lay perfectly still, mutely questioning.

'Maoris!' whispered Terence. 'The fern is full of them, and two of them have tumbled into our underground world.'

'Bother take them!' murmured George. 'Let me have a look.'

He peered over the tall fern at a group of Maoris who were standing up beside the spot at which their comrades had so mysteriously vanished, and with grave gestures and puzzled frowns were discussing the new situation. Their faces cleared and they grinned at one another as muffled voices from below assured them that neither taipo nor taniwha had swallowed their friends. Then they bent down over the tangled mass of creepers and held a colloquy with the imprisoned ones.

'They evidently know nothing about the place,' whispered George. 'How unfortunate that they should succeed where we have so often failed. I think that we had better wake the others and creep away into the bush while they are still absorbed with their find; for—— Oh, good heavens! Look at Paeroa! He is going to his death.'

For the Maori, his alert senses stirred by their low-voiced talk, had awakened, risen to his knees, and peered over the fern at the newcomers.

Even as George spoke he bounded to his feet, threw his hands above his head and rushed towards the group of Maoris, shouting: 'Arawa! Arawa! E tika ana!—It's all right!—Ka kitea te wahi i kimihia mai ai e ratou!—They have found the place we were looking for!—Kapai Arawa! Kapai Arawa! Hurrah for the Arawas!'

His long hair, dressed Hau-hau fashion, streamed behind him and, before any one could intervene, he dashed into the midst of the Arawas.

With a gasp of horror George ran for all he was worth. If at this last moment Paeroa, the faithful Paeroa, should be—— The dreadful thought was lost in the rush.

Already Paeroa was overpowered, his weak state allowing him no possible chance against his stalwart foes. Utterly unmindful of the British principle of sympathy for the under dog, two Arawas held him by the arms, another grasped his long hair, pulling his head backwards, while a fourth, with raised club, was about to dash out his brains.

But with a rush George was among them and, ignoring ceremony, struck right and left with his fists, upsetting the would-be slayer and those who held Paeroa as well. Without an instant's delay Paeroa scuttled into the bush, pending the adjustment of the dispute.

'Pardon, friends!' George said apologetically, turning his glance upon two who stood ruefully rubbing their swollen noses. 'You were about to kill the wrong man. That is Paeroa, who brought word of my captivity.'

'And you are Hortoni?' queried a thin, lithe man who was evidently in command. None of the Arawas seemed either surprised or resentful.

'It is so,' replied George. 'I have just escaped with Mura, Kawainga, and Paeroa from the nest of the Hawk.'

'Mura! If you mean Tereni, he was slain after the fight at Paparatu,' said the Arawa chief.

'No; he is here,' corrected George. 'Te Karearea meant to kill him that night, but I came up in time to——'

'To stop them from shoving me through the gates of Reinga,' put in Terence, bobbing up from the fern and airing his broken Maori. 'I am very much alive, I assure you, Chief.' The Arawa leader and he grinned cheerfully at one another.

'Don't you remember me?' went on Terence. 'You are Te Ingoa, who imitated the Hau-hau cry that night at our bivouac.'

'Yes; I remember you, O Tereni,' replied the Arawa in English. 'You told us of Hortoni, and how he had run away from the white-haired chief.'

"The white-haired chief." George heard without understanding. 'What are we to do, O Te Ingoa?' he asked. 'Even now Te Karearea scours the bush for us with his young men.'

'While he scours the bush, we may clean up the pah, Hortoni,' the Arawa replied sententiously. 'Two of my men have fallen down a hole here. They say that there is quite a large space, but fear to go on lest Taniwha should lurk at the other end. What am I to do?'

'There is indeed a taipo at the other end,' George answered gravely. 'It is in the form of a Hawk who devours women and little children.' Then, as the Arawa's eyes gleamed with comprehension: 'Let me lead you through the passage, O Te Ingoa. The issue of this hole is close by the Pah of Death, more than half way up the hill. There is the upper bridge to cross, but——'

'Lead on, Hortoni,' Te Ingoa interrupted excitedly. 'To us shall fall the honour of clipping the Hawk's talons and blunting his beak. The rest, with the white-haired chief, your father, are behind. I will send a messenger to hurry them.'

George turned to Terence, who was smiling sympathetically at him. 'Colonel Cranstoun is evidently not far away,' he said. 'Te Ingoa wishes to march forward. But don't you think we ought to wait until the others come up?'

'Decidedly not,' replied Terence. 'Let these fellows do their own killing. The white-haired chief, as they call him, will be better out of this fuss.'

'I am not sure that the colonel would agree with you,' said George. 'Still, there are enough of us here, and it is a pity to waste valuable lives.' He turned to the Arawa. 'The sooner we go the better, Chief.'

'I am ready, Hortoni. Show us the way.'

Without more words George and Terence dropped into the hole—more circumspectly than on the first occasion—followed by all of the Arawas except three whom Te Ingoa sent upon the back track. Also, by George's order Paeroa and Kawainga remained behind, for they were thoroughly exhausted by their exertions.

When at last the contingent stood beneath the exit on the hillside it was precisely six o'clock, an hour when ordinarily the pah would have been humming with the bustle of commencing day. On this day there was bustle, indeed, but not of the usual kind.

Before disturbing the barricade which Te Karearea had for some reason placed before the opening, Te Ingoa, his lieutenants, and the two Pakehas held a final brief conference. George was for waiting until night before delivering the attack, but the Arawa argued that he would be unable to hold in his men, who were mad to get to grips with Te Karearea, whose revolting cruelties had disgraced the name of Maori.

'Then you will suffer terribly,' said George; 'for the place is extraordinarily strong.'

'We shall of course lose a few as we cross the bridge and rush the walls,' Te Ingoa agreed coolly. 'That is to be expected. All the same, the Hawk's nest shall be harried this time, I promise you.'

'Well, I don't want to be a wet blanket,' said George, giving in. 'We two will do our best to help you.'

'I am sure of that,' Te Ingoa replied heartily, and shook hands, English fashion. 'As you and Tereni know the lie of the land, you had better go out first and reconnoitre.'

It was easy enough to displace the barricade and, as the boulders were thrown aside and sounds from the outer world began to penetrate, it was evident that something out of the common was afoot. For, borne upon the morning wind, came the noise of distant shouting, the snapping crackle of independent rifle fire, and the short, sullen bark of revolvers. Then, as George and Terence hurled down the last obstruction and excitedly pushed through the opening, the roar of a heavy volley close at hand stunned their ears, and to their amazement they saw the plain and hillside alive with men, fighting furiously, and all, apparently, in the most extraordinary confusion.

'Come out!' shouted George. 'Hold back your men, though, until you have seen this thing for yourself. I can't make it out.'

'I think I can,' cried Terence, jumping about in his excitement as Te Ingoa joined them. 'The main body of your force has come up on the heels of the advance and got between Te Karearea's rascals and the pah. See—the walls are almost deserted.'

'You are right,' agreed Te Ingoa. 'Those are my kupapas (volunteer Maoris), and they are settling accounts with the Hau-haus.'

'What are you going to do?' George asked eagerly.

'And thus, almost without a blow struck at itself, falls the Pah of Death,' said Te Ingoa, half to himself. He waved his hand downwards. 'Ignorant of our approach—he could hardly be careless of it—Te Karearea has allowed his men to get out of hand in his desire to recover the greenstone club. One column of my fellows is busy with the remnant of the garrison, the other is there by the river, blocking the advance of the returning Hau-haus. What am I going to do? Why, charge down the hill, take this lot in the rear, and then join column number two in polishing off the fellows by the river. I never expected such an easy job, I must say.'

'He talks like an Englishman,' observed Terence, as the Maori dived below to summon his men, 'and he feels, like an Irishman, sorry that he won't have enough fighting.'

'He may get as much as he cares for before all is done,' said George. 'All this is very unlike Te Karearea. I suspect a trick.'

'Well, down we go! Here come Te Ingoa and his merry men.' The whoop Terence let out would have done credit to a Comanche. 'Hurrah! Stick close to me, George. I believe the old Hawk has been caught napping.'

It really was so. The crafty Te Karearea, unsettled by the escape of his prisoners, and still more so by the disappearance of the greenstone club, had allowed his men to get out of hand, and was now paying heavily for his error. Perhaps, too, the words of the old prophecy haunted him, and the hopelessness of averting the ruin of his house still further unbalanced him.

At any rate, instead of playing tricks and laying ambuscades, there he was on the hillside, fighting like a demon. As the comrades raced down the slope in advance of Te Ingoa, the desperate Hau-hau turned his head and saw them, and with a loud howl of fury sprang through the press and made straight at them.

It was magnificently brave—one man charging two hundred—but the upward rush of the Arawas to meet Te Ingoa bore back the Hau-haus, and Te Karearea, shouting hateful words of vengeance, was swallowed up in the recoiling wave of his own men. Another moment and the Arawas, swooping down the hill, struck their prey, driving them back upon the weapons of the Arawas below, and the Hau-haus, like the hard, defiant quartz between the crushing hammer and the plate, were smashed to pieces.

Armed only with his mere, George was able to do very little execution, for the Hau-haus who recognised him gave him a wide berth. However desperate a conflict may be with ordinary folk, there is always a chance of escape; but when it comes to engaging a wizard armed with a magical club, it is best to take no chances.

The slaughter was terrific, for the combat was in the old style, hand to hand. Neither side had had time to reload, and while some swung their guns by the barrel, others used their ramrods like rapiers, thrusting viciously at eyes and throats. One wretch, pierced through and through, rushed howling into the thick of it, the slender steel rod, protruding front and back, wounding others and barring his own progress, till he was mercifully slain with a blow from a bone mere.

'Come out of this,' George shouted to Terence, who was fighting back to back with him. 'It is sickening. Let us go and help our folk by the river. These fellows are done for.'

'Right!' Terence yelled back, sweeping his clubbed rifle round to clear a path. His empty revolver had long ago been thrown in the grinning face of a Hau-hau. 'Come on!' He rushed off, screeching with excitement, under the impression that his friend was close behind him.

So George had been at the start; but, as he ran, he heard a shout: 'Turn, Hortoni! Accursed Pakeha, I fear neither you nor your mere. Stop and die!'

Without the least desire to accept this gracious invitation, which resembled that of the famous Mrs. Brown to the duck, George turned his head to find Pokeke rushing at him with levelled spear, his eyes glowing and his mouth agape with hate.

That turn nearly cost George his life, for his foot slipped and he fell heavily on his face. The long spear sped to its mark, but much fighting had made Pokeke's hand unsteady. He missed George altogether and, retaining too long his grasp of the shaft, turned a half somersault and sprawled beside his intended victim.

Both of them were so shaken that they lay still for some seconds. Pokeke was up first and, before George could rise, flung himself upon him, grasping his hair and drawing back his head, while in his right hand he raised his wooden mere with which to give the coup de grâce.

Now, if ever, the wonderful greenstone club ought to have shown its power; but, alas! George had fallen with his arm under him, and TUMATAUENGA'S mere was jammed so tightly beneath his heavy body that not even the war-god himself could charm it forth.

But, as the wooden club descended, the stock of a rifle, sweeping horizontally, met it with such violence as to send it spinning many yards away, while the brass-shod butt, continuing its swing, caught Pokeke a frightful blow between the eyes, crushing in his skull.

'Not hurt?' shrieked Terence, whose face was flaming. 'Come on!' He lugged George from the ground. 'Go first!' he screamed, his voice cracking. 'I told you before we left Sydney that I couldn't trust you out of my sight.' He was almost mad with the fierce joy of his first battle.

'Where is the Hawk?' he sang out to George as they ran down the hill.

'Somewhere in the thick of it,' panted George. 'Haven't seen him since the start. Come on!'

The combat on the hillside waned to a close; but as yet there had been no concerted movement towards the river-bridge, where a much smaller force of Arawas did battle with an outnumbering body of Hau-haus. Still, every now and then an Arawa from the hill would arrive and take a hand, so that matters were growing more equal as the friends came racing across the plain.

'Pull up for a moment,' gasped George. 'If we don't get our wind we shall be brained for a certainty. Where are the white soldiers and Colonel Cranstoun?—Oh, God help us! Look at that!'

With a horrible fear at his heart he hurled himself towards the bridge, at the far end of which two Pakehas were defending themselves against a dozen Hau-haus. Both were elderly, while the hair of one was snow-white; but their erect carriage, fearless demeanour, and the manner in which they wielded their old-fashioned swords, occasionally getting in a shot with the revolvers in their left hands, showed that they were old soldiers, and quite accustomed to give a good account of themselves.

The construction of the bridge gave them an advantage, and no doubt they could have held their own against any frontal attack; but what horrified George and Terence was the sight of Te Karearea, who with four Hau-haus were hurrying to assail the two old soldiers from behind.

He with his men and George with Terence were running along two sides of a triangle, the bridge being the apex. If the chief reached it first—No! George set his teeth and swore he should not.

'Father!' he shouted after one long indrawing of breath. 'Keep at it! We are behind you!' For he feared that the noise of footsteps racing up behind would disturb the attention of Colonel Haughton and General Cantor, whose presence there he could in no way account for.

They were indeed the only white men with Te Ingoa, for Colonel Cranstoun to his great annoyance had been called south. But he had set the wheels in motion, and the friendlies, along with Colonel Haughton and his brother-in-law, had marched against the pah. George had presumed the "white-haired chief" to be Colonel Cranstoun, never dreaming that his father and General Cantor had crossed the sea in chase of him as soon as they learned that he was in New Zealand.

Te Karearea heard George's shout and grinned at him, shaking his bloodstained mere. He was slightly in advance and running like a deer.

'Aha! Hortoni, they told me up there who the white-haired chief was,' he yelled. 'Give me the mere of TUMATAUENGA, and I will call off my men.'

'Take it, fiend!' shouted George, leaping across the narrowing apex and aiming a furious blow at the chief, while Terence and the four Hau-haus raced for the bridge. One of them Terence brained with his rifle, but the other three dodged him and ran on, while he despairingly toiled after them, knowing that he would be too late.

Then to his intense relief he heard the welcome 'wheep' of bullets past his ears, and first one and then another of the Hau-haus rolled over, dead or out of action. Two minutes more and a strong party of Arawas under Te Ingoa himself swarmed round the old soldiers and slew every man of the Hau-haus who were attacking them.

And now it was the turn of Colonel Haughton and General Cantor to be anxious, for between George and Te Karearea a fearful combat raged. The Hau-hau had parried the blow aimed at him, and the Englishman himself had reeled back before a fierce counterstroke. For a moment after they circled round one another, like two wrestlers seeking a grip. Then with a shout they clashed together.

Disregarding his mere, which he allowed to hang from his wrist by its loop, George fastened the strong fingers of his left hand round the chief's sinewy throat, while with the other he clutched the fist that closed round the club and bent the wrist backwards so unmercifully that with a groan Te Karearea opened his fingers and let his weapon fall. Then, writhing free, he flung his arms round George and strove to throw him. The mere of TUMATAUENGA slipped from the dangling wrist and lay unheeded on the hard ground while the two strong men fought for the possession of it.

Backwards and forwards they rocked and reeled, locked in what each realised to be a death-grapple, neither yielding the slightest advantage to the other. Arawas and whites looked on, amazed, unable to help their champion, so quick and sudden were the turnings and twistings of the combatants.

Suddenly George quitted his hold. But before Te Karearea could utter the yell of triumph which sprang to his lips, he felt his long hair seized from behind, his head jerked backwards with a force which nearly broke his neck, and he fell, dragging George with him.

Over and over they rolled; but George, though he received some heavy blows in the face, shifted his grip, but never loosed the hold he had got of that long black hair.

Now his hands were on each side of Te Karearea's head, his fingers tightened in the coarse locks, and with a supreme effort he rolled the chief on his back and flung himself astride of him. Then, drawing up the malevolent, grinning face till it was close to his own, he dashed it from him with terrible force.

There was a dull, smacking sound, as if two stones had been brought together. A fierce scream, strangled in its utterance, burst from the chief, and his eyes gazed ragefully into the stern, flushed face above him. Then their baleful light was suddenly extinguished, the grinning teeth parted, the strong jaw dropped, the clinging hands fell away.

Te Karearea, the back of his skull crushed like an eggshell against the hard greenstone club, quivered for an instant and passed through the gates to the waters of Reinga.

The man of "the strange, strong race"—the race of the Eagle—had held to the mere of TUMATAUENGA, and the doom of the House of Te Turi had fallen.

* * * * * * *

What a lot they had to say to one another that night, as they sat round the bivouac fire and watched the flames as they shot up from the stockade and whares—for Te Ingoa had not left standing a single stick of the Pah of Death. The long day after the battle was won had worn quickly to an end, for there was much to do, and those who had come through the stress of the fight were now gathered together, resting and celebrating their victory, each after his own manner.

Around one fire sat Colonel Haughton and George, reconciled for all time, and anxious only to please one another, Terence and General Cantor, Kawainga, the faithful Paeroa and the Arawa chief, Te Ingoa, who listened, absorbed, to the story of the adventures of the two young Pakehas. The greenstone club, of course, came in for a considerable share of attention, and Terence stoutly championed its claim to magical powers.

'You can't explain how it came to be in your hand that first night on board the Stella,' he declared. 'You can't account for the fact that it got between you and Paeroa's club on the hillside over there. You can't ex——'

'Look here, my son,' struck in George, smiling up into his father's face, though he addressed Terence, 'the explanation of the whole business lies in four words—"the Providence of God." Each time the greenstone club came into play was a time of tremendous excitement, and I have no doubt that I was too preoccupied to notice what I did or did not do with regard to it. So encrusted with legend is the mere of TUMATAUENGA that, because I cannot remember exactly what I did each time I used it, miraculous powers are at once attributed to it.'

'So you make out that there was nothing extraordinary about it at all,' said Terence, disappointed. 'Of course one does not expect miracles nowadays.'

'Don't you, my boy?' interposed Colonel Haughton. 'God's providence works miracles on our behalf almost daily. Is it not a miracle that, after death has stared him in the face so often, I should have my dear son back again? Was it not a miracle that when you stood with the rope round your neck he should come up in time? Suppose he had not walked towards the sentry and learned what was toward.'

'You are right, Colonel,' Terence answered, abashed; 'though I did not quite mean what I said.'

'A thing is none the less miraculous because you can sometimes explain it,' remarked General Cantor. 'However, I am sure that both you boys know well enough to whom you owe your safety, and that you are not so ungrateful as not to acknowledge His care for you.'

There was silence for a moment, and then Colonel Haughton said: 'Before we say good-night I want to tell you two something. I have bought back Major Moore's old station, George, and the title-deeds are made out in the joint names of you and your friend Terence.'

'Father!' For a moment George could not say another word. Then he gripped a hand each of his father and his friend. 'You could not have pleased me better,' he cried. 'Thank you, dad, thank you. Partner, I congratulate you.'

'But what have I done to be treated like this?' objected Terence. 'George saves my life, and I am rewarded for it. That seems odd.'

'You returned the compliment to-day,' Colonel Haughton reminded him. 'Your father was my dear friend, Terence, as you know; and, indeed, I could give you other good reasons for my action. But why should I? The thing is done.'

'There, Terence, you must make the best of it,' said George, laughing. 'Unless, indeed, you don't feel inclined to chum with me any longer.'

Terence gave him an eloquent look and tried to thank Colonel Haughton. But he could only press the old man's hand, so George threw an arm round his shoulders and led him away.

Together they stretched themselves under a great tree, just as they had done on that other night when Terence had walked into the grip of the Hawk. The flames died down on the summit of the hill—the Pah of Death was no more. The blazing stars of the south looked down upon the battlefield, still strewn with relics of the fight. Here and there in the bivouac some wounded wretch stirred uneasily and groaned in his troubled slumber. But deep in the fern the friends slept the peaceful sleep of healthy, happy youth—youth which can forget past sorrow as easily as it dreams of coming joy; and between them lay what George had called 'God's Providence'—the greenstone mere of TUMATAUENGA.

THE END