Chapter VI I Visit the Pa of the Cannibal Chief

One day there came a missionary to the pa. The children ran to me with the great news as I returned weary from one of my expeditions.

"A pakeha?" I asked.

Yes, truly, and a pakeha of sorts. The head of him was like the full moon when it was at full, and around his face the hair stood off white, as it were the moon's rays. He had gone to the whare of the chief, and Te Moanaroa had become a Christian.

"What, already?" I demanded, stopping short, for I had been but some three hours gone, and up till that time there had been no word of the missionary.

A Christian, they assured me. Moreover, all were to become Christians. The ceremony of the water was for the next day, and men had gone forth with their dogs and guns to secure pork. Let the Little Finger smell around. That was the odour of the bread which the women were cooking for the feast. Truly the religion of the Christians was a good thing, except, perhaps, the ceremony of the water; and of that they desired to question me. The whereabouts of the pakeha? He was in the whare of the Thumb.

Pushing through the chattering crowd, I made my way hastily in the direction of the house. In the square a goodly number of natives were assembled, evidently keep-page 73ing watch on the building in which the missionary was then secluded. Taking no notice of their calls to me to stay and discuss the business, I passed round to the back of the store and entered the living-room of the house.

My eyes fell first on the figure of Roma, squatting on the ground in safe proximity to the doorway, her face showing a mingling of embarrassment and terror. The missionary was seated on a stool, with my foster-sister at his knees. His appearance was very much as the children had led me to anticipate, and so remarkable to me was his bald head—a thing quite new in my experience—that at first I had eyes for nothing else. What tragedy accounted for that absence of hair? The only idea that occurred to me was that he had been scalped in battle; but the whiteness and smoothness of his head seemed against the ghastly supposition. However caused, he bore his disfigurement cheerfully and with an apparent unconsciousness of its extraordinary nature which I could not but think affected.

"Ah!" he exclaimed in English, in a pleasant, booming voice, as his eye fell on me. "And this is your son, Mrs. Purcell?"

"Ai—kahore,"¹ replied Roma, blushing and wriggling, and looking pleadingly in my direction.

"Now, which?" asked the missionary, smiling. "Your name, my boy?"

"Cedric Tregarthen, sir."

"Then kahore." Suddenly he looked at me more attentively. "Yes, yes," he said musingly; "it is there, in the eyes and the poise of the head. I knew your father, Cedric. His name also was Cedric."

"Yes, sir."

"Faithful unto death. For such are they who put their trust in the Lord. Their seed shall not be lost, for He shall

¹ Ai = yes; kahore = no.

page 74shelter it. He shall snatch them from the jaws of the tiger and bring them into safe places, that they may grow and multiply." Suddenly his voice boomed forth, till the tins on the walls rang and Roma made a spasmodic movement nearer to the door. "Who made you, Cedric?"

"God, sir."

"And who saved you, Cedric?"

"Jesus, the Son of God, sir."

"It is well," he said, his voice softening magically, and, drawing Puhi-Huia, of whose intense regard he could not have remained unconscious, into the circle of his arm, he playfully squeezed the lobe of her ear. "It is well. The Almighty causes springs to rise even in the desert, that so, in His time, it may be turned into a garden. But I fear your schooling will have been neglected, Cedric. Can you read?"

"Yes, sir."

"Read to me then."

I went to the well filled bookshelf and, taking out the first volume that came to hand, opened it and began to read. It happened that the book was Montaigne, and my eye lit on that fascinating passage which pictures the writer at work in his tower. I had read a few lines, and was myself becoming absorbed in the theme, when something caused me to look up, and never shall I forget the expression of astonishment that sat on our visitor's countenance.

"Juste ciel!" he exclaimed, "Comment avez-vous appris le français?"

"De mon père, m'sieur."

"Votre père! C'est impossible. Ah!" (relapsing into English), "it is Purcell, the trader, of whom you speak?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have heard much of him from Mr. Wake. A man of great force of character and much learning, yet——" and page 75he looked at me doubtfully. "Nevertheless, he has explained to you the great truths of Christianity."

"Yes, sir."

"We will have a church here, Cedric, and, in the fulness of God's time, a school." He rose to his feet and began energetically to pace the whare. "For a quarter of a century we have laboured, preparing the soil and sowing the seed, and weak has been the growth. But the hour of better things is at hand. What say you, boy? Will you become an instrument of the good work—a servant of our Lord Jesus Christ? Will you carry the rongo pai¹ into the dark places?"

"I don't know, sir," I said.

"How!" he cried, stopping short and regarding me with looks that for the moment were almost fierce. "Not know, when it may be your immortal soul turns on the issue."

"It is for my father to say," I replied.

"True," he agreed, vexedly, scratching his chin. "Obey such as are placed in authority over you. Yet must the will of the Heavenly Father take precedence over that of the earthly. Well, well! These are early days for a discussion of the matter, for as yet you are but a child." And again his countenance relaxed into its habitual expression of masterful benevolence.

It was late that night before my father arrived, hurried home by the news of his guest's arrival, and, as I had been in bed and asleep for several hours, I was not a witness to their meeting. It was evident to me early in the following day that some hitch had occurred in the carrying out of the missionary's proposals. The ceremony of baptising the converts was to be deferred and—more regrettable still in the view of my informants—preparations for a feast had come to a standstill. A spirit of restlessness pervaded the

¹ Rongo pai = the good word.

page 76village; work of every kind had ceased; the square was thronged and—more significant still—the tohunga moved to and fro among the people, here and there exchanging a word with a chief of rank, but for the most part absorbed and silent.

My father had bidden me leave the whare immediately after breakfast, while he himself remained in close confabulation with the missionary. As I wandered hither and thither, pausing now and again to listen to what was being said, I gathered two facts. The first was that Te Huata had vetoed the proceedings and called upon the chief of the hapu to dismiss the missionary; the second, that Te Moanaroa was likely to disobey him. Presently a party of armed warriors marched with swinging gait through the crowd and enclosed a portion of the square in front of the chief's dwelling. Into this enclosure passed the chiefs, singly or in small groups, every man wearing his thrummed and embroidered cloak of flax, his plume of feathers, his ear-pendant and family jewels. In perfect silence they seated themselves out of earshot of the grim-visaged guard, and then my father and the missionary were sent for.

For the best part of three hours the grave deliberations continued, and then, as silently as they came, the chiefs and guard withdrew. A conclusion had been reached, and presently it was known to the expectant people. A middle course had been decided upon. Te Moanaroa would neither yield to nor disobey the commands of his ariki. He would attempt—as many times before he had attempted, and often successfully—to bend the will of the Great One. With this object he himself, together with the missionary and a party of chiefs, would proceed to Pahuata, there to reopen the matter in the presence of the ariki. A swift runner was dispatched to announce the coming of the party, and preparations immediately began.

My father had already returned to the whare when I page 77entered. Roma was busy spreading the table for the midday meal. The missionary had remained behind with Te Moanaroa, but I gathered from the haste made by my foster-mother and her nervous glances at the door that he was momentarily expected. With the assistance of Puhi-Huia, she had set on the table a loaf of bread of her own baking, a boiled leg of pork and a dish of butter-coloured kumaras, forming together a picture very pleasing to the eye of a growing youth. But all thought of the viands was at once dispelled by my father's first words.

"Cedric," said he, "on your bunk you will find a suit of clothes. Dress yourself quickly, my boy, for you are coming with us."

Never were words more welcome. Waiting for no second bidding, I flew to the bunk and, in a few minutes, stood arrayed in the costume of my race. Very stiff and uncomfortable, but extremely proud I felt as I returned to the table, where the missionary was already seated.

"Eh bien, monsieur Tregarthen!" said he. "A quelque chose malheur est bon."

"Tut!" said my father, laughing. "Everything is for the best, Mr. Hall. If we succeed, you will have accomplished more than you attempted."

"True," replied the missionary, gravely. "In the hands of the Lord evil itself becomes an instrument for good. Now, as regards Te Huata, or the Great One, as they call him——" and the pair turned to a discussion of the ariki.

Excited as I was, I think Puhi-Huia was even more so; but it was all on my account. When dinner was over, I rose from the table and was rushing off to air my new importance in the eyes of my brown-skinned companions, when she caught my hand and drew me to a standstill.

"Cedric," she began, "you are going to the pa of the Great One."

"Yes, Puhi," I replied, hastily kissing her cheek, for there was a mournful look in her eyes, and I wished to console her for having to stay behind. "I wish you were coming too, but you see it is too far for you, and the party will travel quickly."

"It is not of myself I am thinking, but of you," was her response. "You will keep beside our father, Cedric, and be good. Remember how terrible is the Great One, and that if you should anger him he will kill you. And shall you see Rangiora?"

"Yes, I hope so."

"Now, see how thoughtless you are; for you must not speak to him."

I nodded agreement, recognising the wisdom of her words.

She looked at me wistfully from her great brown eyes. "You will not have the care of me to hold you back, Cedric, when you are tempted to do something reckless. Oh, I wish to-day and to-morrow were gone and I were saying the haeremai instead of the haerera!"¹

To me the expedition appealed so entirely as an affair of pleasure, that I was taken aback at the serious light in which she evidently regarded it; and I put my arm round her and, mingling the hongi ² with the kiss, promised to be cautious and keep with my father, and so, to some extent, consoled her. Not many hours were to elapse before I had reason to ask myself if there had not been in her distrust some premonition of the danger I was to incur.

It was a dull afternoon in the early winter as our large party descended the hill and, in single file, struck the forest trail. In front, marched twenty young warriors, armed with gun and tomahawk; the chiefs, with my foster-father, the missionary, and myself, followed; the tail of the procession being brought up by some fifty or sixty persons of

¹ Haeremai = welcome; haerera = farewell.

² Hongi = the act of rubbing noses.

page 79both sexes, who attended mainly out of curiosity, but also, I expect, in the hope that the Great One's ovens might contain some unwonted delicacy to reward their exertions. The track was in good order, for so far we had had but light showers, and the tireless lope of the travellers quickly left the miles behind.

Though, for my part, most of the journey had to be accomplished at a trot, I was so hardened by use as to be incapable of fatigue. Indeed, had I yielded to my inclinations, I should have broken rank and joined the merry fellows in front, or even fled on in advance. I could tell from the cries which floated back to us that the young braves feigned to be on the war-path. A log across the path was "a flying fish crossing the bows of the canoe," and him, as in duty bound, they slew to propitiate the god of war. I saw the marks of their tomahawks as I stepped over it in my turn. But when we had crossed the familiar fern-hills and entered the shadow of the sunken bush, the chief's voice was raised in reproof, and thenceforward the advance was made in decorous silence.

Black darkness had fallen before we left the forest trail and set our feet to the precipitous hill, on the summit of which stood the pa; but there was still some lingering daylight outside, and I gazed with interest and awe upwards to where, etched on the gloomy sky, were the palisades, the balconies, and the lofty watch-towers of the Great One's citadel. As our party came into view of those on the hill-top, we could hear the cries of the sentinels, followed by the booming notes of the great slab drum, and the weird wail of the tetere.¹ A strange silence fell on our ranks; even the masterful voice of the missionary ceased, and naught was to be heard save the deep breathing of the visitors as they scaled the steep mountain side. At times the pa was lost to sight, shortly to become visible

¹ Tetere = war trumpet.

page 80again, each time nearer at hand. Lights or flares gleamed through the palisades.

At length the last slope was breasted, and, rounding the pekerangi,¹ we stood beneath the massive carved gateway of the pa. A challenge was given and replied to, and, with a waving of shawls and welcoming shouts, we passed into the fortress. In a moment our hundred was inextricably mingled with the occupants of the pa. Noses were being rubbed on every side. Ancient crones wailed, sang, and wept over the new-comers. Confused by the pandemonium of sounds and the flaring lights, which seemed to mix the whole village up in a devil's dance, I suffered myself to be dragged hither and thither, catching sight every now and then of a familiar face, but always, as I sought to reach it, finding myself the victim of a fresh hongi. At length, however, it became clear to me that I must use sterner measures, and, kicking myself free from an old woman, who was smothering me, under the impression that I was the second son of her daughter, who had died in child-birth, I flew into the midst of a bevy of girls, watching the scene with open mouths.

"Pah!" said I, wiping my face on the sleeve of my new jacket. "Kakino te hongi." ²

"Ai," agreed one of my new companions, a merry-looking girl, some years older than myself. "Kapai te hongi pakeha. I show you."

The whole band laughed and closed round me. Well, it was certainly an improvement on the form of greeting from which I had just escaped, and I bore their kisses with such resignation that presently they tired of the sport. But they did not turn me over again to the mercies

¹ Pekerangi = the outermost palisade.

² Hongi = the Maori method of rubbing noses. The hongi-pakeha (European hongi) is, of course, kissing. Kakino te hongi = Confound the hongi.

page 81of the elder people. On the contrary, they kept me in their midst, and it was in their company that I ate the evening meal and spent the rest of the night. As for my father and the missionary, I saw them no more until the next day, nor despite Puhi-Huia's warning, did I feel the need of them. So pleasant and free from care, indeed, was the time, that I found it difficult to realise that I was veritably shut up in the stronghold of the dreaded cannibal chief.

After supper, a few of the elder girls, among whom was Pepepe, the merry-eyed maiden, smuggled me into the whare-matoro, a beautiful carved building, long since destroyed by fire. It was crowded almost to the doors. I noticed some of our own chiefs among the audience, from which I concluded that the discussion of our business had been deferred till the morrow; but I saw no sign of the missionary or my father, nor of Te Moanaroa. In vain also my eyes traversed the crowd for a sight of my friend Rangiora.

Young people were in the majority. The elders who were present took little or no part in the proceedings, though their frequent coughs of applause showed them to be interested observers of what was going forward. No doubt, were I to come upon such a scene now, my impressions would be vastly different from what they were at that time. To my young eyes the place was a blaze of magnificence, and so my memory recalls it. The wealth of beautiful cloaks, the embroidered vests, the rustling waist-mats, the black and snow-white plumes, the jade ear-pendants and tikis,¹ even the calabash caps and dog-skin wigs of the old women, were objects of grandeur, and, as I watched the supple figures of the young girls posturing in the dance, every one dressed in her best, her face brightened with red ochre—even Pepepe,

¹ Tiki = an ornament worn on the breast.

page 82beside me, had managed to coax enough from her elder sisters to cause her round cheeks to glow with a spot of vermilion—it seemed to me that the climax of the beautiful had been reached.

There was one girl from whom I could not take my eyes, so perfect was her acting. She rolled her body at the hips, so that it seemed on the point of falling in two; her twisting shoulders were independent of the rest of her; she withdrew her nose and waved her ears; she grimaced and squinted and thrust out her tongue: there was not a young man in the room whose heart could with-stand her appeal of perfection. And when she ceased dancing, and her face stilled, as water that has been shaken, and her smiling eyes looked down on the audience, a deep sigh of admiration filled the building. Dance and song followed in swift alternation, till at last every one found a seat and there was an expectant pause. Here and there the girls whispered and laughed among themselves, while the young men, their faces wearing an air of embarrassment, nudged one another, as though each sought to incite his neighbour to action.

At length one of the latter arose, and amid a complete silence said, "I intend to have Ka Heihei."

The dancing-girl stood up in her place and, turning her bright eyes on this would-be lover, replied, "Your head has not been at the knees of the tohunga-ta."¹

A laugh greeted the reply and the papa-tea² retired.

A silence followed, broken at length by the voice of a girl, who stood bravely up among her companions. "I take Tiki for mine," said she.

There was no answer, and a cough of approval confirmed the engagement; the happy girl sinking back in her place to receive the more special congratulations of those around her.

So the game, that was no game but deadly earnest, went on, with increasing boldness as the young people gained confidence. Many a youth and maiden who had carried desire secreted in their hearts for a twelvemonth, put their fate to the test that night, to win or lose on a word. Refusals there were in plenty; soft and equivocal, carrying no sting when they fell from the lips of the men, but frequently of a shrewish quality in the mouths of the girls. Ka Heihei, the dancer, was by no means to be won from her state of single blessedness. Many, whose hearts she had fired, claimed her, only to sit down discomfited beneath the gay raillery of her replies.

At last a youth of eighteen sprang to his feet and said, "My pet shall be the Butterfly."

Pepepe, sitting close beside me, looked blankly around her, then, finding every eye turned in her direction, and realising that she was really intended—that this glory of a public asking had suddenly lifted her, a child, into the dignity of womanhood—rose shyly to her feet, and, looking at her young lover, answered: "Perhaps next year I shall reply to you, but at this time I am too young."

That her reply, however disappointing to her suitor, met with general approval was evidenced by the cough that followed her words.

"And will you marry Ruka next year, Butterfly?" I inquired, later on in the night, as I settled myself in the wharepuni.¹

Pepepe laughed. "If you will have me, pakeha," she said, "I will wait for you. Should you like me for your wahine?"²

"Alas, how unfortunate!" I replied with much seriousness. "I like you greatly, for though you did set the girls on to kiss me, you have been nice to me since; but Puhi-Huia is my singing-bird."

"I have heard of her that she is beautiful," said Pepepe; "but she will never be your wife."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because she is your foster-sister. Some day another girl will come. She may not be so lovely as Plume of the Huia, but the newness of her will bewitch you, and you will think of Puhi-Huia no more."

I heard this assertion with incredulity, but could think of no argument strong enough to controvert it.

Pepepe drew her blanket about her. "Tell me a story, Little Finger," she commanded.

I rather prided myself on my powers as a story-teller, having earned some reputation on that score among the children of my own village. "What shall it be about?" I asked, mentally turning over my repertory.

"A love story of the pakehas," said the Butterfly, sleepily.

I had been reading lately some of the delightful tales of Musaeus, and I chose that one in which the lover seeks to take advantage of the story of the family ghost, to elope with his bride. I had reached that thrilling moment when the hero, glowing with love's ardours, steps into the waiting carriage and clasps in his arms—not human youth and loveliness—but the grim spectre itself, when, pausing with the intention of heightening the effect, I was made aware by the deep breathing of my bed-fellow that she had fallen asleep.