Chapter XXXI. The Native Tocsin—A Momentous Korero—A Simple Message—An Ancient Incantation.

The edge of the sun's disc had scarcely appeared above the horizon on the morning after the sacrilege of the exploring party when an appalling sound smote on the still morning air, and echoing front each peak and crag roused every sleeper in the vicinity of the Bay of Islands. It was a most terrific trumpet blast, and was given out by a tetere, blown from the highest staging of Tinakori's fortified pa. tetere was a wooden trumpet some seven feet long, with one lugubrious note, aptly described as resembling ‘the voice of a dying wild bull.’ This doleful instrument was chiefly Used to alarm surrounding districts when hostile incursions were dreaded, or to notify the approach of an enemy. To native ears it spoke with no uncertain sound, and its dreadful moaning now acted as an instant eye-opener to the drowsiest lie-a-beds, while every warrior, as he noted its direction, grasped his weapons and breathlessly awaited developments. To the Frenchmen the sound conveyed nothing except an instant impulse to stop their ears, and as after half-a-dozen notes the dismal music ceased they troubled themselves very little about the matter, lightly ascribing the incident to the sudden freak of some crazy savage. Before, however, it had ceased to sound, a dozen dark-skinned couriers sped to the landing place, and selecting the lightest and swiftest canoes, shot down stream, and away to different points about the bay.

Mean while, in the pa itself all was commotion. Ovens were heated, food stores opened, small game killed; women busied themselves preparing eatables and plaiting food baskets; slaves: ran hither and thither bearing fuel and water, for visitors were expected. A korera (conference), of leading rangatiras from contiguous kaingas had been called in haste, and the company—in accordance with time-honoured custom—must be feasted on the best the pa afforded; so; as the ancient Maori abominated underdone meat, the working bees had to set to early. Overlooking all, from a lofty standpoint, determination in the lines of his lips, ferocity in his deepset eyes, stood the chief Takori, surrounded page 149 at a respectful distance by the more distinguished of his warriors, all silent as shadows, and all reflecting in their tattooed visages the menacing aspect of their leader.

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The sun has long passed the meridian. The rangatiras have arrived and been fed, and, assembled in the wharenoa, the aggrieved and in sulted chief has detailed to them his complaint, whereat every visage lengthened, and every brow grew black. In glowing terms he related how the holy place of his people had been desecrated, the tupapaku (dead body) of his uncle, the illustrious high priest and sorcerer Taku-tai-o-te-raki (sea coast of heaven)—deposited there only six weeks before—dislodged from its resting place, forcibly discovered, and rudely handled by the prying pakeha tau-reka-reka (white slaves), and how, worse than all, the mere pounamu, Tahito kuru (ancient blow), the ancestral weapon, transparent as the summer sea, and sanctified by the touch of his illustrious progenitors, had been by unholy hands abstracted, and was even now on board one of the pakeha ships there in the bay.

To detail each speech would be wearisome. Horror and loathing of the deed were the sentiments expressed, swift and bloody reprisals the utu proposed, until it came to the turn of Te Whatu Moana, and he, in genuine friendship for the pakeha with whom he had for weeks past been on terms of such intimacy, and whose civilization and its products he had from the first seemed instinctively to appreciate, suggested in the metaphor so dear to the old Maori orator that possibly the white strangers were less guilty than appeared. Doubtless in their own far-off land very different customs from those of the Maori prevailed, and may be they understood not the full significance of the tapu. Again, it was possible they were ignorant of the sacred character of the place they were violating until too late to repair damages. And then how many had been engaged in the sacrilegious deed? It was the Maori custom—among Maoris—to exact utu from many for the offence of the few, and from any part of the offender's tribe, but would it be just to act thus towards a people who knew so little of their usages? Would it not be wiser, especially as the pakehas were brave and strong, and possessed of infernal weapons for destroying life, even at a great distance, to find out the personally guilty rather than, as advocated by his friends, to kill indiscriminately all the pakehas they came across? He thought also it was a matter which should be left in Takori's own hands. He was the person aggrieved, and his mana was such that the pakeha must yield him satisfaction. Marion, the chief of the pakehas, was a reasonable man. Let them wait a few days while Takori demanded from him the lives of the actually guilty. If this reasonable satisfaction were refused, then let them meet again to reconsider the matter, Meanwhile, taihoa (wait).

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The young chief Naku-roa followed briefly. ‘What my friend. Te Whatu Moana, has spoken is good,’ said he, ‘and what my other friends have said is good. My word is this: Let Takori do what seems best to himself, and whatever he does I stand beside him.’

As for the long lean chief of Wai-iti, he had from somewhere managed to obtain a bottle of cognac ere leaving home, and having been sucking at it every few minutes since, he was in a happy state of maudlin good humour, and, in that warm atmosphere, just beginning to feel a bit drowsy. He managed to get on his legs, though, when Naku-roa sat down, and propping his limp frame against the wall, delivered himself in a very oracular manner of the following sentences spoken in thick guttural tones:—

‘O, my friends. This is my word to you. My word is this, Ka pai te waipiro’ Here he look another swig. ‘Ka pai te waipiro. The pakeha makes the waipiro. Ka pai te pakeha ka-ka-ka pai-te pakeha.’ He got out the concluding syllables with difficulty, as he did so gradually settling down upon his hams, while he vainly essayed to get the bottle once more to his lips.

All the council having now expressed their views, Takori rose to reply, but before orating he took several turns up and down the assembly room, as though in movement to expend some of his pent-up feelings. At length he paused, and turned his fierce disdainful eyes upon the chief Taranui, who, still clasping the neck of the brandy bottle, was snoring apoplectically. Pointing to him, he spoke in low contemptuous tones, but evidently under great self-restraint:

‘O, my friends. “ka pai te waipiro.” Behold how it strengthens a man, how it nerves the arm of a warrior! Taranui is a hero in battle, a very devil lo fight. Like down before the fierce wind his enemies flee, and countless are the skulls his trusty mere has cloven. But see him now! How many could he cleave to-day with that bottle, if our foes stood at the gate? Very good is the strong water, and good also the men who make it. But, my friends, were we all like Taranui there, the pakehas might slay us like pigeons, and take our wives and daughter, for their own.’

A murmur of acquiescence ran through the assembly, and Takori continued, changing the subject.

‘Good have been the words of my friends here to-day; they have made my spirit light, and strengthened my heart in the path of honour. A true warrior knows the way he should go, but, like rain in the heat of summer, the approval of his friends refreshes his soul. Te Whatu also has spoken wisely. Verily. Takori can avenge himself, and exact utu for the injury done. But, perchance, as Te Whatu suggests, the pakehas are ignorant of Maori ways. Therefore it is better to wait. Yes, naught page 152 should be done rashly. A great chief knows how to bide his time, and it shall never be said that Takori was impatient.’

Takori accompanied his departing visitors to the landing place, and when nearly all were embarked, drew his future son-in-law aside, and charged him with a message to be delivered that same afternoon to Captain du Fresne. It was an invitation to join a party of his people two days later at a bay noted for its excellent fishing. The message was simple, and imparted in grave and quiet tones, but as Naku-roa looked into the gloomy eyes of the old warrior he understood all its import, and without a word his own dark orbs expressed acquiescence, and conveyed a pledge of secrecy.

That same night in the whare puni (hot house), for the nights were getting chilly, a hundred chosen warriors gathered round Takori, as with bloodshot eyes and furious gestures he dilated upon the guilt of the strangers, and charging them with worse intentions artfully dwelt at the same time upon his hapu's prestige and valour, gratifying their pride, and firing their ambition, by calling upon them while taking bloody Utu for their own wrongs to strike the first blow in their country's deliverance from the pakeha invaders, who, if not promptly checked, would soon overrun the island. He finished his harangue by chanting an ancient incantation song, which had the effect of goading his hearers to fury. As it proceeded, eyes rolled, jaws dropped, and tongues protruded, while, with features working convulsively, they wildly flourished their various weapons. When the song ended, the infuriated warriors, looking more like demons than men, leaped to their feet, and Hinging off their garments, united madly in the frantic movements and horrific contortions of the war dance.

These are the words of the song:

Collect, O hosts of heaven!
Collect from tar.
Collect. Evil is near.
Overcome and exhausted.
I am in spirit dead.
Oh; that the war-girdle
Might expand itself
And grow before Mua.
And flaunt itself
For me—for me!
I tremblingly cry,
I wall, O me!
And my calamity,
On the mountain of life.
In the midst of power,
Tu, come near to Maru,
And Maru, come near to Rongo
And you, O Rongo,
Come near to me—.
page 153 Conie near to my calamity.
But, O ray spear of war!
I vainly flourish it.
And only smite the air.
My battle-axe I hold:
But this I clasp in vain:
Without the power to strike—
Without the battle phalanx
Arrayed to storm my enemy.
Arise, ye bold; arise,
And stem the flood.
Shout loud the battle cry.
And storm and conquer.^*

As the last notes of the chant died away, and the maddened warriors, breathing slaughter, sprang to their feet with a bound which shook the earth, a female figure, which, with ear pressed close to the wall had crouched beside the whare puni during Takori's exhortation, and who knew too well the meaning of its ending, rose sofly, and drawing her wrapper over her head, stole noiselessly away. It was Rau-kata-mea, Takori's beautiful daughter.