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Chapter XXIV.

One evening after the work, or perhaps more properly speaking, the pleasure, of the day was over, Colonel Bradshaw kept his promise of telling his companions a story about “Eat-man House.” He began by saying:

“It is some time since I heard the story, and my memory may not serve me faithfully in some respects, but I will tell it to you as well as I can remember it. To begin with I will describe the house: I can do that, for I have seen it. The house belongs to a man named Rangihaeata, who made himself very unpleasantly prominent in the massacre of the English at Wairau, which I think I once mentioned to you. This man Rangihaeata was a fighting chief, a captain under the chief Rauparaha, who by dint of cunning and treachery conquered the lands on all sides of him, until he became a person of most unenviable importance. The island of Mana is the residence of this man, and it is on this island that the page 225 house I speak of is built. It is said that it is entirely the work of Rangihaeata, who even carved with his own hands the ornaments of the outside. It is a wooden house of larger size than usual—coloured with red ochre, as you have seen the better houses in the pahs. There is a deep verandah outside, beautifully painted with black and red and white. Between the woodwork, the interstices are filled with variegated reeds, tied with flax dyed red. Above the doorway is a large head carved out of wood and tattooed all over, with dogs' tails for hair upon its head and face. There are door-posts to this entrance, carved as human figures, with their tongues stuck out as far as they can be protruded.”

“Do you remember the way in which the Maoris stuck their tongues out while dancing and in singing?” said Jack.

“Yes: it is intended as an insult; as I fancy it is all the world over. The dance they performed was a dance of defiance, and I have no doubt the songs were of the same character. These figures upon Rangihaeata's house are very cleverly done, the eyes are inlaid by means of pieces of bright shell, and the tattooing is as carefully done as if upon real faces.”

“Do the Maoris tattoo themselves?” asked Jack.

“Oh, no; the tohunga does that.”

“It must be very painful.”

“It is, I believe, extremely so. I remember once reading a biography by a man named Rutherford. He page 226 was an English sailor, and was wrecked on the east coast of New Zealand in the year 1816. The rest of the crew who were thrown ashore with him were gradually eaten by the New Zealanders in the presence of the wretched survivors, who thus could minutely anticipate their own fate. Every one in turn was roasted and eaten, and Rutherford fully expected to be devoured in the same manner; but for some unexplained reason the natives spared his life. He was but a boy. After awhile he got used to their ways of living, adopted their habits, and when he became a man, the chief who had taken him under his protection declared that he should be tattooed. It is usual amongst the Maoris to do this gradually, especially upon the face, where of course it is most painful. To the astonishment and admiration of the natives, Rutherford submitted to having the entire surface of his face, even to his eyelids, tattooed at one time. He was in a dreadful condition for some time afterwards, totally blind from the inflammation in his eyelids, so that he had to be led by the women; but he took a standing in the estimation of the Maoris, which was of great service, and he was declared a chief on the strength of it.”

“Well, it says a good deal for English pluck,” said Stanley. “How did he get away, sir?”

“Really that I forget,” replied the Colonel; “but I know he returned to England. I have seen a portrait of him: I do not think there was a part of him which was not thickly tattooed. His face was like an arabesque pattern.”

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“My dear sir, we have gone a long way from Eat-man House,” observed Hope Bernard.

“It is that fellow's fault,” said the Colonel, laughing, and alluding to Jack: “he is so unwearied in his questions. But we will go back to our story. The reason I began by describing the house is because I have seen it; so that it is the only personal foundation I can give you for the story. I believe the hero of it is still living; at least, I know nothing to the contrary. He was a gentleman named Taonui, and was a chief of Mokau, a very considerable district on the western coast. He was the most powerful of the Maori chiefs, and, from all accounts, a shocking old villain before his reformation. The people of Mokau were at variance with a neighbouring tribe, called Waikatoto, the King of which was named Pomare.”

“How strange! Pomare. Is not that the name of the Kings of the Sandwich Islands?” asked Bernard.

“Of the Kings and Queens both,” replied the Colonel. “But that is not the only point of resemblance between the Maoris and the Sandwich Islanders. In many respects their language is very similar.”

“Please, sir, go on with the story,” said Jack.

“Well, King Pomare killed, or his people killed, a neighbouring chief, who was feudal lord to Taonui, and thus provoked Taonui's hatred and incited his revenge. You will generally find that uncivilized nations follow page 228 the dictates of revenge blindly. It is what must be expected of a heathen.”

Hope Bernard glanced at Stanley; but the latter was picking to pieces the scarlet lichens which thickly covered the trunk of a tree against which he was sitting.

“The dead King,” resumed Colonel Bradshaw, “was claimed after his death by some Roman Catholic missionaries, who were about to bury him according to the rites of their faith, when Taonui came down upon them, knocked over the bearers, dragged the body out of the coffin, and drove away the missionaries; for which decorous and gentlemanly conduct he was so much admired by his countrymen, that he was on the spot declared King of Mokau.

“Immediately upon ascending the throne, figuratively speaking, Taonui declared war against Pomare and the Waikatotos. Pomare seems to have behaved very well throughout, for he, on more than one occasion, offered to make peace with Taonui. To one of his conciliatory messages, Taonui is reported to have sent this answer:

“‘Taonui will rub the heads of the Pomare warriors with cold potatoes and fish.”’

“Well, I don't see that would do them much harm,” said Bernard, laughing.

“The Maoris look upon it as a great insult to have any allusion made to their heads in connection with anything eatable. The message was intended as the most refined insolence. Pomare took it as such; for he made no more page 229 overtures of peace afterwards. After many skirmishes and pitched battles, Taonui got the better of Pomare, and killed him by his own hand.”

“That was an awful shame,” exclaimed Jack Stanley, “for Pomare was worth a dozen of the other fellow.”

“Moreover, Taonui took prisoner the daughter of Pomare, a very beautiful girl, named Tedra. This girl was a Christian, having been brought under the influence of the missionaries; and, besides, Taonui threw the body of the dead King upon a heap of old rubbish and broken pots and pans. He took for himself, however, the legbone of Pomare, and manufactured it into a flute. This flute he carved over, in commemoration of his victory.”

“Horrid old brute!” said Jack.

“What could you expect from a cannibal? I dare say it did not seem very horrid to a man used to look at the heads of his enemies baked and stuck upon poles. It was a savage revenge; but no worse than revenge in any country. Just as horrible things, though perhaps less barbarous and disgusting, have been done by civilized men when actuated by revenge.”

Again Bernard looked at Jack Stanley; but he could not catch his eye.

“What became of the girl, sir—Pomare's daughter?” asked Bernard, after a pause.

“She was given as a slave to one of the wives of the King who was remarkable for her ugliness and the badness of her temper. This woman's name was Kaitemata.”

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“Poor girl!” said Jack. “I don't envy her life.”

“The wonderful part of it is, that Tedra's influence seems to have mollified the old shrew; and, to the surprise of Taonui, she neither beat nor scolded the girl, so that his design of making her wretched was frustrated.”

“Why did he carry his revenge on towards her?” asked Bernard. “How could she have offended him?”

“I believe that it was through her influence that the Mokauris consented to give up the body of the old King, Taonui's predecessor, to the missionaries. Besides, Taonui pretended to be a very religious man, and zealous for the honour of the idols, or gods, or demons, or whatever they may have been, of his fathers.”

“What did he do next, sir?”

“Well, he occupied all his leisure moments in playing upon his flute. He knew in his heart that his friends and neighbours admired the dead Pomare; and he would sit and play the most horrible noises on the leg-bone of his enemy, in order to insult the memory and outrage the feelings of those who respected him.”

“What an agreeable person!” said Bernard.

“Taonui had a son, named Waipata: a handsome young man. Finding that his wife, Kaitemata, did not beat Tedra, he ordered his son to give her a thrashing every day with a lash. The result was that Tedra got no thrashing, that Waipata fell in love with her, and that through her conversations with him during the time that he was supposed to be beating her he became a Christian.”

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“Bravo!” said Bernard; “so the old wretch was cheated.”

“He found out that he was cheated in a very short time, so he banished Waipata to some distance from home, with orders not to speak for three months and three days, and he began to plan some punishment for Tedra. At length he summoned her to his presence, and made her dance to a tune played by himself upon the flute made from the leg-bone of her father.”

“Refined cruelty, certainly,” said Bernard. “And what did he do to his wife, Katie something?”

“Nothing: he dared not punish her: his superstition stood her in stead; for it was believed that, if a woman was old and ugly, very ugly, she frequently became a witch. One advantage of being ugly, Master Jack.”

“What an unfortunate thing, if, in all countries, such an idea prevailed!” said Jack; “but, at any rate, it did not extend to our sex. It is very strange that the people should still believe here in witchcraft. Even amongst the Maoris who are supposed to be Christians, I noticed all sorts of silly superstitions.”

“I do not think it strange,” the Colonel answered, “that people so very little enlightened as the Maoris, even if Christians, should cling to their old superstitions, when we meet with numbers in civilized England who hold beliefs quite as absurd. Even witchcraft, also, is believed in country districts at home. I have met with it myself; and I doubt if any one of us, you yourself, Jack, or Bernard, page 232 or I, are quite free from superstitions. It is a quality of human nature: sometimes we call it by other names, but we all have our special weaknesses in such matters.

“But there was no reason why Taonui should not hold such ideas in full; for he had been educated in them, and had every excuse; and he was afraid that the old woman might bewitch his cattle or himself if he offended her. It seems that Kaitemata brought the suspicion of witchcraft upon herself by being always accompanied by a black pig with one eye. That was certainly reprehensible on her part.”

“It showed bad taste, perhaps; but I think the old woman was clever to encourage the belief,” said Bernard.

The Colonel resumed: “Taonui, having succeeded in making the girl unhappy for the time, retired for meditation, and for planning a fresh war against the people of Pomare. He sat in solitude until darkness came on, when, being like all his people, afraid of the dark, he rose to return to his hut; but, before going, he raised the flute of bone, which he always wore hung round his neck, and played a requiem of insult to Pomare. To his horror and astonishment the echoes of the forest took up the music, and, gradually altering it from the horrible discordant noise that Taonui had made, executed a musical and warlike march.

“This was so strange, so unearthly, that it was more than the King of Mokau could bear. He turned and page 233 hastened home. There,” added Colonel Bradshaw, “I can tell you no more to-day: it is a longer story than I thought it would prove when I began telling it; and I am tired of talking.”