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Amongst the Maoris: A Book of Adventure

Chapter XVI

page 147

Chapter XVI.

Jack Turns Upon His Persecutor.

Two days after this—days during which Jack alternately raved at the vindictiveness of the tohunga and sank into a state of despair of freeing himself from his power—the old priest himself came and stood by him, with a knife in his hand.

Jack felt uncertain whether he was to be put to death there and then: he might have augured the worst from the expression of his companion's face; but he said nothing as he gazed up into the old man's frightful countenance. But the tohunga had no intention of killing him: with the knife he cut the cords which tied Jack's feet and arms, then said, abruptly,

“Sit up, you.”

Jack was so cramped from having lain in the same position for so many hours that it was not a very easy thing for him to do as the tohunga bade him; but he fancied he saw the foot of the priest ready to enforce his order if it was not obeyed at once, and he struggled into a sitting page 148 position. Then the tohunga ordered him to remove the flannel shirt with which he was dressed, and having taken possession of that, he proceeded to demand his trousers. Jack hesitated; but remembering that after all by going without them he would do no more than conform to the ways of the country, and thinking that it might be just as well to be fashionably dressed, he handed his trousers also to the old man.

“Pakea my slave,” said the tohunga, grinning horribly, and indicating himself by patting his breast. “Pakea do work; come on, you.” He hesitated in order to think of an appropriate word in English to address to his prisoner: “Come on, Dirt.”

“Jack had no choice but to follow him, although naturally feeling very uncomfortable at going abroad without any clothes. The tohunga led the way, every now and then glancing back to see that he was followed, to a small patch of ground, a short way from the settlement. Here he stopped, and of course Jack stopped also.

“Here, you, work,” said he, handing to Jack a spade; “work, Dirt.”

He seemed so pleased with himself for having fixed upon so suitable and opprobrious a name for Stanley that he repeated it a great many times, and thenceforth always addressed Jack by that elegant nickname.

Jack took the spade, with which he saw he was intended to dig up the patch of ground, and began working as vigorously as he could, notwithstanding the stiffness of his page 149 arms. He hoped when he was once fairly at work that the tohunga would leave him to himself; but the old priest was a great deal too sharp to do that. He sat down under the shade of a large tree, within reach, and, lighting his pipe, smoked vigorously while he watched his slave, ever and anon picking from the ground a stone, a piece of wood, or any missile near at hand, and throwing it, for mere wanton cruelty, at the naked body of his victim, repeating again and again,

“Work, Dirt; dig, Dirt.”

It was no light labour to be digging the hard soil of a potato patch in a broiling sun, without a rag of clothing by way of protection, especially as Jack Stanley was considerably weakened by the pain and semi-starvation he had recently undergone. But the old tohunga was a merciless taskmaster, and Jack had to work on, streaming with perspiration, fainting from the heat, until he all at once ceased digging, and leaning upon the top of his spade, looked full at the tohunga.

“Why should I dig your potato-ground, you horrid old man?” said he. “Who are you, that you should assume to be master over me? What hinders me now from cracking you over the head with this spade, and knocking your wicked old brains out? And I'll do it,” Jack added, “if you give me any more of your bullying!”

The tohunga did not understand half of what Jack Stanley had said, for he spoke rapidly and passionately; but he could not misunderstand the fact that he had page 150 struck work, and, rising from the ground where he had been seated, he went up to him.

“You work, Dirt: you go on work,” he said, shaking his fist at him.

But Jack was too quick for him. He threw down his spade, and catching the old priest by the shoulders, he shook him as if he would shake the life out of his body. The tohunga howled and chattered and rolled his eyes, and Jack set him down again upon the ground.

“There!” said he: “you may thank your old age, you wretch, that I don't strangle you. If you were younger, I would give you a thorough good thrashing; but you are such a miserable old animal, that I should be ashamed to do you any serious injury. But don't you imagine I am going to be your slave, or work in your potato-ground. Take up your spade and carry it home! Take it up, Dirt!” added Jack; then laughed aloud at having turned the tables upon the old man.

So far, Jack had got the upper hand of his would-be master, and, as he stood now looking at the tohunga— who still sat sulkily upon the ground where he had placed him—it passed rapidly through his mind, what was he to do next? He had no present intention of returning to the old priest's hut; but he was in no position to leave the pah—naked and unarmed, and ignorant of the way which his companions had taken. At last he concluded he must go back for his clothes, and his blanket and gun; then he might, he believed, find his way back to Colonel page 151 Bradshaw's house: he could hardly fail of that, if he kept by the river's bank.

As these thoughts passed through his mind, he looked at the old priest with regret that he had nothing wherewith he could tie or bind him. He would have tied him up to a tree whilst he went in search of his own property; but there was no means of doing so. The tohunga had on nothing but a very old flax mat: I suppose the plaid breeches were kept for festive occasions. Of this Jack quickly divested him, and wound it as many times as he could round the old man's arms, thus controlling his movements; he then grasped the flax where the mat ended, and thus holding his companions, bade him “Come on!”

To his surprise, the tohunga mildly submitted to be thus led home, only muttering and grunting as he went, with his eyes upon the ground.

Jack's anger was disarmed by his submission, and by the time they had arrived at the hut, he had cooled down in more senses than one. The entrance to the hut being so small and narrow, was a difficulty: Jack dared not go in first, for he felt sure the old man would be too wise to follow him, and if he ran for assistance to the pah, Jack would be overpowered by numbers. They could not both enter at once, for there was not sufficient room; so the only method left was for Jack to let go his hold of the priest, and help to shove him into the doorway as quickly as he could.

page 152

They had met no one on their way home, and as the tohunga's hut was the first in the pah, they had reached it unobserved. But the tohunga was a great deal too deep and too cunning for Jack's unsophisticated nature. He was a long time crawling into the hut; and when at length his companion in turn introduced his head through the opening, he was saluted by a sudden feeling of strangulation, caused by the flax rope which had been left lying upon the ground being thrown lasso-wise over his head.

The tohunga was quite merry over the change of circumstances, as he dragged Jack into the middle of the hut; almost throttling him with the tightening of the rope. But his intention was not to kill him. In a few moments he had fastened him once more securely; this time by a rope attached to one ankle, the other end of which was fastened to one of the wooden uprights of the hut; and having made all things safe to his own satisfaction, the old man first administered a beating to Jack's shoulders; then having, with much gentlemanly feeling, spit in his face, he sat down opposite to him, and went on repeating for the space of half an hour,

“You no work, eh, Dirt? You no dig, eh, Dirt? You dig morrow, Dirt. You work, work, Work, morrow, Dirt. I see! oh, I see!” and he shouted with laughter at the force of his own joke.

It was of very little use for Jack to abuse himself for his folly, in having for a moment trusted the tohunga. The thing was done. Uncivilized cunning had overreached page 153 Jack Stanley's unsuspiciousness. There is nothing like the cunning of a savage. Thenceforth he would be, no doubt, more closely guarded than before; and his chances of escape from the power of the Maori would be more remote.