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Chapter XXV.

“Now, sir,” said Jack Stanley, next time they found themselves at leisure for talking, “please let us have some more of the history of that old scoundrel. Was he frightened into reformation by the ghostly music he heard?”

“Not he,” answered Colonel Bradshaw. “He seems to be a regular Pharaoh, King of Egypt. Instead of making him better, the ghostly music drove him to desperation. He continued his sentence of banishment and silence against his son; and he shut up Tedra in a hut where she was compelled to see the unburied body of her father.

“For a time he was afraid to blow the flute, but, looking upon his repugnance as cowardice, he determined to try it again. He did so with the same result. This time he was so frightened that, every time his own dismal squeakings were changed into the war-march, he flung the flute away, and with difficulty could pick it up again.

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He had gone to the tomb of some dead King as the scene of his musical performances, thinking that, as the place was sacred, he should be there less open to the influence of witchcraft and evil spirits. But the evil spirits apparently cared nothing for tapu; and Taonui was so terrified that he rushed shrieking from the spot. After this Taonui turned morose for the time, and never told a word to any one of what had happened.

“About this time there arose a report that the body of King Pomare had come to life again. There was no one in the pah who had the courage to investigate the matter but Taonui. Not a soul dared approach the place where his bones lay exposed upon the heap of rubbish; but Taonui went alone to the place, close to which Tedra was confined. The first person who met the King at the door was old Kaitemata, his former wife, who had followed Tedra in her solitude. Upon sight of her, Taonui thought that he had arrived at the explanation of everything. The whole thing was witchcraft. Kaitemata, helped by Tedra, was at the bottom of it all, and he resolved to put them both to death. To confirm him in this belief, he at the same time received the news that his son Waipata had become a Christian, and, moreover, had gone mad, conclusive evidence of which was given by the fact that he had taken to wearing trousers.”

“I only wonder the old wretch had not put the woman to death long before this,” said Hope.

“He was afraid, you see, because of his superstitions;

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but now he had determîned to do so, he cast in his mind for the means. In the neighbourhood of Mokau are some boiling springs. Through means of these Taonui determined to compass the death of his victims, leaving it to be supposed that they came to their end through natural causes.”

‘But did he think to take in the spirits or demons as well as his neighbours?”

“I suppose he did. These heathens are sometimes wonderfully obtuse, and seem to think their deities are equally so. This old rascal Taonui determined to send his victims to a cavern he knew of, under which was one of these boiling springs; he himself having previously scraped the surface upon which they were to tread so thin that the least pressure would make it give way.”

“But, if the women were witches, such means would not kill them, I suppose,” said Bernard; “at least, according to the education of my childhood, witches would fly away on broomsticks from such childish dodges.”

“That does not seem to have entered into Taonui's calculations,” said Colonel Bradshaw. “He set out upon his expedition at once; but he had not arrived at the cave when he was met by an apparition—”

“More ghosts!”

“—The apparition of the leg of Pomare, magnified to a gigantic size, looming through the mist. After a few minutes he recovered himself, and ascribed this also to witchcraft, and he proceeded on his way.”

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“I must say Taonui is a plucky fellow, at any rate,” said Jack Stanley.

“Yes, no one can deny him that,” answered the Colonel. “Of course, the mind of the King of Mokau being possessed with the idea of witchcraft, everything that occurred served to strengthen it. So, on entering the cavern for which he was bound, he fancied shadows into spectres and imagined movements in reflections.

“Notwithstanding all these things, which his superstitious mind might have taken as warnings of evil, no sooner was he arrived at his destination than he began his wicked work. After he had, for some time, scraped away with a sharp stone at the surface of the cavern, he heard the hot spring bubbling beneath. He was so pleased at this that he raised his flute to his lips to give upon it a flourish of triumph.

“As he did so, he saw a lizard wriggle out of one end of the flute, while from the other a black thorn projected. This he chose to interpret into an omen of good, because, as you know, the lizard is atua or sacred to the gods with the Maoris. He did not choose to see that the lizard had run away, and that the thorn had run into his mouth; but there are wiser than the King of Mokau who choose to prophesy for events according to their own views.

“After some time of waiting he became conscious that he had a companion: whenever he raised his arm, the arm of the figure was raised also, but when he looked round at the figure, it was still. Taonui was so vexed at

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this unasked-for help that he could not continue his work. He sat down in the middle of the cave, and, as he sat, the flooring of the place, which he had been so carefully preparing for others' destruction, gave way, and he was all at once floundering in a spring of boiling water.”

“A good thing too,” exclaimed Bernard. “I suppose the old scoundrel was killed?”

“By no means: it does not, from all accounts, appear to have done him much harm. He remained for some little while in the midst of this steaming cauldron, and was not even cooked in the process.”

“How did he get out?”

“Well, it was a reward of iniquity. Such a tremendous steam issued from the cave that a young hunter who was out in the neighbourhood was attracted to it, thinking that something unusual must be going on. Upon arrival, the young man, who was none other than Waipata, recognized his papa gradually being boiled tender. Waipata had with him Tedra and Kaitemata, and the black pig with one eye. How they all came together I cannot undertake to say.”

“Surely the King was brought to his senses after this?” said Hope Bernard.

“No sooner had Tedra and Waipata by their tender care brought him to himself, than he turned upon them and bade them get out of his sight—which was his gratitude.”

“They had best have put him back into the spring,” suggested Jack.

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“They did nothing of the sort: they obeyed the old sinner and left him to himself. He then returned home, defiantly blowing his flute as he went. As he entered the village he heard the war-trumpet sounded, an instrument which is blown only upon the eve of a battle; startled at this, and indignant at what had happened, he blew his flute again, defying the trumpet to answer him. This time the solemn music of the death-march commenced, and continued playing for some time after Taonui had ceased squeaking upon his flute. About this time, the ghost of Pomare, or whatever it was, began a more ingenious attack upon the King; in fact, it took to kicking him on the shins. This measure, as was natural, increased the rage of Taonui, and his perplexity at the same time. He kicked and ill treated his wife in return for the kicks that he received; he again banished his son Waipata, and he ordered that Tedra should be shut up in the house of which I have told you—Eat-man House, in the lonely island of Mana. He supplied her with bread and water for a few days only.”

“And the old woman?”

“He seems to have taken no steps against her: certainly her witch's reputation was a great thing for her. After these measures, Taonui determined upon calling a council of the chiefs and telling the whole story.”

“The wonder was he had not told it long before,” said Bernard.

“It was his pride which kept him back. This man,

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vindictive and unbridled in his anger as he was, superstitious and barbarous, had yet something noble in his savage nature. He was undoubtedly brave to rashness, and his self-reliance and defiance of the powers of evil had something grand in it. He was certainly a savage hero. —But,” added Colonel Bradshaw, “like Shehera-zade, I must postpone the rest of my story until another night.”

“One moment, sir,” said Jack Stanley. “About these boiling springs? Please tell us something more of them.”

“There are large tracts of land in the valleys where boiling springs are very frequent. Indeed, it is very dangerous at times to pass over them, for the upper crust is by no means thick, and will readily break when there is nothing between you and the boiling water. The steam rises from them in clouds, and you can hear the water boiling.”

“Very convenient for cooking purposes,” said Jack, “if people could live sufficiently near to them.”

“People live actually at the very top of them,” answered Colonel Bradshaw, “liable through any extra movement to be swallowed up in the cauldron.”

“What infatuation!” said Bernard.

“Not more so than the infatuation of the Italians, who again and again build at the foot of Vesuvius,” said Colonel Bradshaw. “Why, I have heard of native dancing parties being entirely swallowed up in the midst of their festivities.”

“What can induce them to run such terrible risks?”

“The advantages of the heat. I dare say it is very

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luxurious to sleep over hot water in the cold weather; moreover, they use the holes in the ground as vessels for boiling their potatoes.”

“Do they indeed? They must be cooked to perfection, then, I should imagine,” observed Bernard. “I suppose the springs are very small.”

“Some of them are,” said the Colonel, “others, I have been told, are ninety feet round. These send up huge columns of steam.”

“What a grand steam factory might be established there!” said Jack.

“Yes, perhaps so, and without any expense of coal. Perhaps it may be so some day,” said Colonel Bradshaw. “But good night, Jack, my boy: good night, Bernard. I cannot speak another word to please anybody.”

“Good night, sir, and thank you. I think I hear the war-march of King Pomare in the music of those glorious trees. I do not wonder at the Maoris being superstitious. One might imagine anything in such forests as these.” And Jack Stanley lay for a time awake, thinking over the story of Taonui—recalling the romantic incidents which had taken hold of his imagination, but never laying to heart the lesson which he might have learnt.