Plume of the Arawas

Book Four — I. The Island in the River

Book Four
I. The Island in the River

Behold my paddle!
It is laid by the canoe-side,
Held close to the canoe-side.
Now, ’tis raised on high—the paddle!
Poised for the plunge—the paddle!
Now, it leaps and flashes—the paddle!
It quivers like a bird's wing,
This paddle of mine!
See! I raise on high
The handle of my paddle.
Ha! The quick thrust in,
The backward sweep,
The swishing, the swirling eddies,
The boiling white wake
And the spray that flies from
My paddle!

Rité, ko te rité!
Together—all together!
Rité, ko te rité!
Together, all together!”

With Te Puku the Fat as their kai-hautu or time-giver, the Arawas were carrying out their canoe-drill upon the river.

Every morning and every afternoon, whilst awaiting the arrival of the carved figure-head and stern-post from Rotorua, Tuwharétoa had taken the canoe out upon the broad waters of the Waikato. Daily he had sought to familiarise the warriors with the handling of so unusually large a vessel, and to make them more accustomed to the long and heavy paddles. Daily, with the aid of Te Puku, he had striven to so co-ordinate the paddle-work that the downward and backward thrusts would be regular and powerful enough to drive the canoe forward with both steadiness and speed.

On this particular midsummer's morning, Te Puku was anxious to give of his best, for the Puhi maiden Marama was on board with her companion Niwareka. A low cabin had been built for their use, with a sloping and rush-covered top upon which they now reclined in comfort. It had been built close to the stern so that Marama might be near to her brother, who would share with Rata the chieftain's privilege of steering the canoe upon her course.

The Fat One, gaily adorned as to bordered waistgarment and feathered head-dress, stood now upon his platform amidships, swaying his body from side to side, and brandishing a taiaha as he kept time for the paddling warriors by the rhythmic measure of his chant:

“Riteé, ko te rité!
Rité, ko te rité!
Te ihu takoto atu.
Waenga kia hinga,
Te kei akina—
Aha-aha!
Together—all together!
Together—all together!
Bow-paddles there, all together;
’Mid-ships there, keep time!
Stern-paddles—all together!
Aha-aha!”

The beat had been slow at first, but now it gradually quickened as the lusty voices of the warriors joined in:

“Rité, ko te rité!
Rité, ko te rité!
Tiaia, a tiaia!
Toki hika toki!
Toki hika toki!

Together—all together!
Together—all together!
Plunge the paddles in!
Paddle away!
Paddle away!
Aha-aha!”

The paddles swung and dipped and rose again and fell in time to the chant, while the canoe rushed forward with ever-increasing speed. Not fast enough yet, however, for Tuwharétoa!

“Hoea te waka-taua! Urge on the war-canoe!” he cried.

“Hukeré—ka hukeré! Hukeré—ka hukeré! Quicker and quicker! Quicker and quicker!” roared Te Puku.

Faster and faster came the strokes, as the brawny-shouldered crew responded. The timing was perfect. The paddles rose and flashed in the sunlight as one. The canoe seemed to almost fly along.

At a sudden command the warriors held their paddles up, while the canoe swung gracefully to either side as Tuwharétoa bent his weight this way and that upon the long steering-paddle at the stern. For some time he gave his men practice in the art of quickly turning and promptly stopping a canoe, that they might be prepared for the war conditions that would be theirs in the lake-fighting later on.

The warriors themselves took unbounded interest in these exercises, and their quick response to the various commands gave increasing satisfaction to their leader. He longed to test both canoe and men upon the Lake itself. Yet he knew the folly of too hasty a start, and he turned back ere he reached the outlet, lest the temptation of the sight of Taupo should prove too great.

On the return run to the island in the river, Te Puku decided to add a ceremonial touch to the paddle-work. His great voice burst suddenly forth in an imperious command:

Taringa whakarongo! Ears, listen!”

The tingling ears of the paddlers listened. Then: “Hikitia! Lift up!”

Every paddle was lifted clear of the canoe side. The warriors in front glanced backwards and saw the expressive gesture the Fat One made. Then: “Pakia! Strike!”

With a deft movement of his free hand each warrior slapped the wet blade of his paddle, the crash of the combined effort being startling in its suddenness and its intensity. With a clamour of sound, some hundreds of wild-fowl rose into the air from a swamp on the western bank.

” Tiaia! Drive in!” cried Te Puku.

Once more the warriors plunged their paddles in, and then delightedly they joined the Fat One in a rhythmic chant, enjoying its vigorous swing, its frequent repetitions, and the regular beat which fitted in so splendidly with the movements of the paddles.

………..

The evenings on the island in the river were as full of interest as were the days.

Thus on moonlight nights one and all would join in tribal chants to the music of flutes, with the deep tones of Te Puku's voice in pleasing contrast with the appealing softness of the voices of the maidens.

It was during these nights on the island that Tuwharétoa began to notice with pleasure the growing affection of Marama for her brother's friend. Evening after evening she and Rata would sit together, somewhat apart from the others yet always joining in with them for the chants. A burden lifted off the mind of the young leader, to see his course thus made free.

Even the moonless nights were enjoyed by all; for then Tuwharétoa talked about the stars, and imparted knowledge handed down from Ngatoro-i-rangi of old.

Thus he pointed out the starry outline of the famed canoe Te Waka-o-Tama-reréti (the Tail of the Scorpion) with its high stern-post, and with its anchor down securely held by a cable of stars. He directed attention to that ancient steering-mark at sea, Te Maahu-Tonga (the Southern Cross). He pointed out the black space close to Te Maahu-Tonga called Te Riu-o-Maahu (the Coal-Sack), and he named many a cluster of stars familiar to the tohungas and navigators of former days.

Moreover, he explained to the warriors how their ancestors had discovered that the world was not flat but round. Voyaging about among the islands of the Sea of Kiwa, long before the migration from Tawhiti, they had found familiar stars disappearing and new stars rising the farther they had pressed to the south. But, on the voyages back towards the north, the old stars had reappeared above the horizon. Their disappearance and reappearance could only have been due to the one cause. The world must be round in shape, round like a berry, or like a poi-ball, said he.

Much other knowledge did he impart; but ever his talks were brief, and then would follow the chanting of songs and the piping of flutes.

Thus did the days and the nights pass quickly, pass peacefully, until one day, the day after the arrival of the carved figure-head and stern-post from Rotorua, the Arawa watchman on the river bank up-stream gave warning of a large canoe speeding down from the Lake outlet.

The warriors upon the island rushed to the skids with intent to launch their own vessel upon the river, but the old tohunga from Mokoia Island was back at his post, and he contemptuously forbade them. Who were they, he asked, that they should dare to interfere with a canoe-expert at his work? And Tuwharétoa upheld him in his stand, rightly holding the hull to be entirely in his charge while he was fitting on the carvings at prow and stern.

The approaching canoe came within sight, but the Arawas on the island could only greet it with a savage roar. The chief in that canoe took in the situation at a glance. The look of astonishment on his face could be plainly seen. A sharp command, and the canoe swung round at once. Then away she went up-stream at a speed that soon took her out of sight round a bend.

Nor would Tuwharétoa allow his warriors to hasten along the banks to intercept the canoe at the Lake outlet. At daybreak on the morrow, said he, the Arawas themselves would be out upon the Lake. Let the Lake People have this warning of the attack that was to come!

So he merely sent runners along the banks, to make sure that the canoe would leave the river and that no other canoes were waiting for it outside. As an extra precaution, he trebled the sentries, and even sent some men to the top of Tauhara to see if danger threatened from any quarter.

Then he waited—and at last the words came.

“Kua oti!” cried the tohunga. “The work is finished!”

He wept as the young ariki gave him the salutation of the hongi.

………..

That same afternoon, after elaborate ceremony, the canoe was launched upon the river, the Puhi maiden Marama having first named her Te Arawa in affectionate remembrance of the famed canoe which had come with the fleet.

And as the canoe floated gracefully alongside the bank, the warriors on the island greeted her with an earth-shaking dance and with a chant of praise, praising her as a war-canoe at last, and acclaiming her to be a real “waka-taua”—the very perfection of Maori naval art. Yes, she was worthy of the praise, and the tohunga was not the only one who wept with joy as he watched.

A celebrating feast duly followed, and, in the midst of the feasting, Tuwharétoa announced the betrothal of his sister to the young chief Rata. Ha! The enthusiasm of the warriors as they leaped to their feet and greeted the announcement with an approving haka!

And the enthusiasm was renewed at the end of the feasting, for then Tuwharétoa stood forth and announced that, in readiness for the operations of the morrow, he would allow his body to be covered with the war-paint of a warrior, and his face with the markings of a family tattoo.

But when, a little later, they saw him with his fair hair hidden under a black covering of dyed flax, and saw his face tattooed with a vegetable paint that could be easily washed off, they grew uneasy, and marvelled greatly, until Rata hinted at the reason for it all.

………..

That night, from many a hill around the shores of Taupo, gleamed the signal fires of Ngatihotu.

Alas! for the scorching wind about to blow from the north! Alas! for the desolation and death that would mark its track!

From village after village arose the wailing cries of women.