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Hine-Ra, or The Māori Scout: A Romance of the New Zealand War.

Chapter XXIII. — Diamond Cut Diamond

Chapter XXIII.
Diamond Cut Diamond.

There was unwonted excitement in the Hau-Hau encampment the following morning. First because there was to be a grand Korero in relation to the two Pākehā prisoners, and second because during the night a considerable number of warriors had been sent away to join the forces of Kereopa and Kawiti on the Upper Patea River, with what object was only known to Hepanaia and Matene, but it was generally supposed for a raid on the coast, perhaps an attack on Taranaki itself.

The two prisoners were up betimes, and after a refreshing ablution and a hearty breakfast, were ready to attend at the Korero, to which it had been intimated to them they would be summoned during the morning. They were permitted to walk about in the square before the Wharepuni on condition of leaving their arms inside, which it was stipulated should not be touched, but the strong sentries posted all round showed how jealously they were guarded.

“Frank, lad, there's something brewing; I don't know what, but there is, and it's our business to find it out. Keep your eyes and your ears open, and mind what I told you last night. Do as I do, say as I say, and we'll trick the beggars yet.”

“Oh, this delay, this suspense is killing me. Hine-Ra, my father, Matariki, in danger, slaughtered, perhaps, by these savages, and me here helpless,” groaned poor Frank.

“Hope for the best, lad, hope for the best. I didn't sleep much last night, and if I did, it was with one eye open, ay, and both ears. There was something going on. There was a small war party came in from somewhere, and, if I'm not mistaken, a bigger one went out. Depend on it, there's something in the wind.”

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“Oh! if it should be—”

“Let's hope not, lad. I know what you mean, but let's hope not. I could have sworn I recognised the voice of one of the runners who came in. And yet, he's a friendly, or was a friendly. I'm fairly puzzled. But wait, there's nothing for it but to wait; therefore patience, patience, lad, and shuffle the cards, and we may turn up trumps yet. If this were a straight game I should say we were unmistakeably enchred. But it's not a straight game, and what's more, it's not played out yet. Before it is, well—we shall see what we shall see.”

“I cannot have patience,” said Frank, passionately. “I would rather fight it out, make a bold dash for freedom, and if the worst come to the worst, why, let it come.”

“Time enough for that when all else fails,” replied the scout. “I know it is hard on you, lad, but I have a plan, a risky one, I admit, and I am thinking it out. Leave it to me. Watch, and wait,” and, with this vague consolation Frank was compelled to be content.

The hours sped slowly by, and it was quite noon before Jack Hall and the young officer were summoned to the Korero. Although they were received courteously, there was a marked difference in the demeanor of the chiefs and priests from that accorded them the day before. There was a curtness and decision in his tone as Hepanaia opened the conversation by saying, half-sneeringly—

“The Pākehās are welcome, albeit they come arrayed in garments which do not belong to them. The younger is a brave warrior, no doubt, and the elder a great magician. He can change men into birds, we are told, and bring down fire from heaven. So it is said, but Hepanaia is not Rehua, and he does not believe it. The eyes of the followers of Pai Marire are open, and they know better.”

Jack Hall looked straight into the eyes of the chief, who visibly quailed under his steadfast gaze, and replied sternly—

“Hepanaia is a great chief, and a wise, but he does not know everything. Let him not tempt the power of Haki Hori too far. We are here as friends at present. Let him not turn us into enemies, or it may be the worse for him and his tribe.”

These bold words were not without their effect. There was a whispered consultation among the Māoris, and Matene the Ariki took up the conversation.

“The Pākehās,” he said, “are here as friends, so they say, but that is yet to be seen. What have they to say to the proposal made to them last night?”

“This is no light thing you ask us to do,” replied the scout, gravely, “and we must know more, and be better assured before we answer. The words spoken by Matene in the whare last night, what were they? Wind. But the words spoken by the chiefs and Arikis and Tohungas in the Korero, they are not as idle breath. They are sacred. Therefore, here, and now, tell us what you would have us do, and what, and where, and how, our reward is to be, should we accept.”

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This was a piece of diplomacy exactly suited to the Māori intelligence. They knew that a definite promise made in the Korero was as binding as anything could be, although, to tell the truth, that was not saying much, and Matene endeavored to avoid the responsibility by replying silkily—

“My words are not wind. What I promised in the whare is already ratified in the Korero.”

“Does Matene think the Pākehās are children, to be tickled by prattle, or Wekas that come to be snared at the hunter's whistle?” asked the scout scornfully. “Do the chiefs and others here know what Matene did promise in the whare? And if they do, how do we know that they do? No. The Māoris must tell us plainly, here, and now, what they mean.”

“The Pākehā forgets,” said the chief ironically, “that it is now for the Māori to command, and for him to submit; and if—”

“Ha!” interrupted the scout in a loud voice, “thou Hepanaia, would'st then threaten? I bid thee beware. Are, then, the Atuas, whose servant I am, dead? That we are in thy power I know. It is the will of the great Atua that it should be so. Why, I know not, but it is. But, proud chief, beware. Believe it or not, as thou wilt, I care nothing. Harm but a hair of our heads, and the vengeance of the gods—but I, too, now threaten, and threats are useless. The Pākehās are here to listen to the proposals of the Māoris. Let the Māoris speak, and speak fully, and we will reply. Not else. That is my word.”

The assemblage was startled, perhaps not a little frightened, at these bold words, for, although they had professedly embraced a new religion, the superstitions of their race were not wholly eradicated from their minds. Be that as it may, in the face of the firm stand made by Haki Hori, it was deemed best to come to a clear understanding.

The proposals, terms, and promises made the previous night were repeated and ratified by Hepanaia and the others, still further inducements being offered as the scout from time to time demanded them, and then there was silence to hear the Pākehās' reply.

It was brief, and to the point:

“E Rangitiras, Arikis, Tohungas, and wise men of the tribes,” said Jack Hall, “listen to my words. This is a great thing you ask us to do, and you know it. My young friend is a brave and skilful warrior, as you know, and I—but I need not speak of myself. The name and fame of Haki Hori is known to all the tribes from Otou45, in the far north, to Mangatoetoe46, in the south; from Whakaari47, in the east, to Rahoti48, in the west. True, we are Pākehās, but we are Māori in heart. This youth was brought up a Māori from his childhood: for me, let the moko on my face, the tiki49 on my breast, speak. What care we for the Pākehā more than for the Māori? Let my words be understood. The Pākehā pays well, but the Māori pays infinitely better. It is enough.”

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This was a direct appeal to the avaricious side of the Māori character, which struck home, and a murmur of satisfaction ran through the assemblage.

“But,” he continued, “the Atua must be consulted. His will is supreme. Him will I consult to-day by my spells and conjurations that none else may see and live. To-day will I do this. If he says yes so be it. If no, it must be no. Let Hepanaia come to the whare after sunset, alone, and he shall have the answer. My young friend will speak for himself.”

Frank, who had hitherto taken no part in the proceedings, as he had been warned, briefly expressed himself as being bound by what Haki Hori agreed to.

But the chief did not appear quite satisfied.

“Come to the whare after nightfall?” he asked, dubiously.

“Even so,” was the reply. “If he fears to come alone—”

“Fears?” he exclaimed, angrily.

“If he fears, I say, let him bring his warriors.”

“The Pākehā is insolent,” he cried, hotly. “The Rangitira of the Uriweras knows not fear. I will be there, and, mark me, Pākehā, but that the interests of my tribe—”

“The interests of the Rangitira's tribe are not likely to gain much if he cannot control his temper,” replied the scout, coolly. “If I have said aught to offend, I am sorry. I meant no offence. But I must speak my mind.”

The threatened storm thus blew over, and the two Pākehās left the building.

For an hour or more they wandered about the place, mingling freely and on friendly terms with their captors, and partaking of the hospitality of the leader of the ambush into which they had fallen. Then they betook themselves to the whare, the young man to sleep, and Haki Hori ostensibly to consult the Atua on the momentous question which had to be decided.

Soon, very strange sounds were heard issuing from the interior of the whare, and voices appeared to come from all parts of the surrounding space, as if a number of unseen persons, disembodied spirits, it might be, were repairing to the place. The reader need hardly be told that this was caused by ventriloquism, in which art the scout was an adept, but it had the effect of causing the numerous guards to fall back to a wholesome distance, for Haki Hori's warning had not been forgotten.

“Frank, lad,” he commenced, when there was no danger of his being overheard, “we are in a tight place, there's no denying it, and we've got to get out of it to-night. It is as I feared. I learned enough to convince me that a war party has started to attack Te Nama, but when I cannot say; probably not for a couple of days or so, but we must be there first, and, what's more, we will, or at least I hope so.”

“But how are we to get away from here?” asked Frank, despondently. “Guarded as we are—”

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“I am going to show you something, to tell you something I have never told before, at least not in this country. I am going to show you the secret of my wonderful power over the Māoris, for it is a power, and one which very few possess. I dare say, after what I have already told you, that you take me for a charlatan and an impostor. Well, perhaps I am a little of both. But there is no imposition in this, as you will see ere long.”

“What is it?” asked Frank, interested in spite of his gloomy fore-bodings.

“Did you ever read or hear of animal magnetism, mesmerism, electro-biology, or whatever else it may be called?”

“I fancy I have heard my father use the terms, but to me they convey no meaning whatever.”

“And yet that mesmerism is the very highest form and phase of what the Māoris call the Makutu50 itself, and the sorcery, witchcraft, magic, what you will, is only, in many instances, mesmerism in an uncomprehended and undeveloped stage. To the founders of my race, to the Magi of the East, who lived ages ago, the mysteries of this and other occult sciences were clear as daylight. But since then, one knows not where nor how the secrets have been lost. A dark wave of ignorance has swept over the world, and now your philosophers and teachers are groping in the gloom of the yet only dawning day. As one of the greatest of them said, they are only like children picking up pebbles on the sea shore, while the great ocean of truth lies undiscovered before them. To some of my race has the dread power been given, a power not to be used lightly, nor without due cause, and I, among others, have the gift.”

It was the second time the gipsy had spoken to Frank Burnett in this semi-mystic strain, and, sooth to say, the language was barely, if at all, within the grasp of his comprehension. He made no reply, and the scout continued—

“In your behalf, as in my own, will I try the effect of my power. I know, I felt, when I spoke to Hepanaia to-day that I could easily bring him within the influence, and to that end did I bid him to the whare to-night. He once here, and alone, the rest is easy.”

“But, great heavens!” exclaimed Frank; “what are you about to do? You surely would not murder the man in cold blood?”

“Who spoke of murder? Not I. Fear nothing. I will not harm him. I will merely cause him to release us.”

“Release us? and of his own free will?”

“Not so, not of his will, but of mine. But let it suffice. The hour draws nigh. Say nothing. Watch and listen, and you shall see and hear.”

“You talk strangely and promise strange things. I do not understand.”

“I promise nothing I do not think I can perform. I cannot explain. Such a power as I have spoken of I possess, but only over those who are susceptible. He is, I believe, susceptible, and by its page 109 aid I think we may escape. Whence or how it comes to me I know not. By hereditary endowment, perhaps, or special faculty, I cannot tell.”

“And I, what shall I do?”

“As I have said. Watch, wait, say nothing, and follow my lead. Our rifles are there? Good. All is ready for the venture, and now silence.”

Hepanaia was as good as his word. Hardly had the rays of the sinking sunset shot their last glittering flash through the western bush, than, unaccompanied except by a body of armed warriors, who halted at a distance, the chief strode boldly up to the opening of the whare and claimed admittance.

“I am here,” he said, as in response to the invitation to enter, he stepped across the threshold. “I am here, and alone.”

“'Tis well,” replied Haki Hori. “I have consulted the Atuas and they have spoken.”

“Well?”

“It is well. The gods are propitious.”

The chief responded with a grunt of satisfaction. “And what say the Atuas?” he asked, half contemptuously, yet all eagerly.

“That is for thy private ear. Come apart that I may whisper the Irirangi into thine ear, for to no other must I deliver it.”

Taking the chief's hands in his, and leading him aside, the gipsy gazed steadfastly into his eyes and began to speak in a low monotone, which increased in intensity as he went on.

“Listen, oh Rangitira of the Uriwera, to the word of Uenguku, for from the eleventh heaven hath he spoken. To thee, Hepanaia, even to thee only, shall be shown the dark mystery of the future of the Māori race. It was to this end I sent for thee hither. It was to this end that, impelled by thy pride, but more by the mystic power thou could'st not withstand, thou camest alone. But not here shall the dread secret be made known. No, but at the head waters of the Wairoa51, whither thou must lead us, me and this youth, at a spot I will show thee. Thee alone. Do'st thou understand?”

“Yes,” was the reply, given in a half-dazed way, “I understand, but I must consult—”

“Thou must consult no one. Thou must come, and at once,” interrupted the scout; then, loosing his hands, he made a rapid pass across his face, and continued, “Thou canst not speak, thou canst not move from the spot where thou standest until I give thee leave.”

In truth, the mysterious power of mesmerism had done its work thoroughly. The chief was fascinated, absolutely and entirely under the control of the operator, on whose brow, as Frank perceived, the perspiration stood out in large beads.

“It is enough,” whispered the scout to the latter; “he sleeps, and nothing can wake him until I will it. He will do my bidding now implicitly. Hand me my rifle, take your own, and let us begone, for every moment is precious.”

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“But will they allow us to pass?”

“Yes, at his bidding, and he goes with us.”

“He goes with us! but how—”

“Ask no questions now,” replied the scout, sternly, “but let us go.” Then, turning to the chief, he said, impressively, “Come, the Atuas wait: lead the way, and bid the warriors let us pass. Thou hast a mission with us, and none must follow. Thou wilt return soon. Tell them that. Art thou ready?”

With a slight gesture he released Hepanaia from the statuesque position in which he stood, and the latter replied—

“I am ready; come.”

The way was open, and the party of three strode boldly forward through the pah, in the direction of the main land, uninterfered with. Certainly they were challenged by the sentries, but at a word from their powerful chief these fell back at once. Even Matene and several of the Arikis, who stood amazed at what they saw, and who attempted to intercept them, were silenced by the peremptory command of the Rangitira, whose word was law.

The narrow spit of land which connected the promontory on which the pah was erected was soon passed, and the party stood on the mainland beyond. But turning round, the scout saw that a number of men were preparing to follow, and he commanded the chief to bid them back. This was done, and the trio plunged into the recesses of the bush, and, under the guidance of their comatose leader, were soon threading the intricacies of the forest with comparative ease and rapidity.

To say that Frank was astonished at what had taken, and what was taking, place, would be but faintly to express his condition of mind. That a man of the character of the chief should so completely subordinate his will to that of another was totally beyond his conception, and he could only follow in silent amaze and profound bewilderment.

After a couple of hours' rapid walking, the Māori scout suddenly stopped.

“Here,” he said to the chief, “we part. The Atuas command that you shall return to the pah. The reason why you will know to-morrow. You will go, and should you meet any of your party you will bid them back. Tell them it is the command of the Atua Now go.”

Without a word, Hepanaia turned, and, retracing the track he had come by, was soon lost to sight in the gloom of the bush.

In reply to the enquiring look of Frank, who almost felt a kind of remorse at the strange trick which had been played, Jack Hall remarked—

“Have no compunction, lad, at what I've done. Did you notice they never once attempted to salute us with the Hongi? Did you not observe their unwillingness to make a promise at the Korero? Depend on it, all they wanted was to use us, and then, without a page 111 doubt, slaughter us. It is only a case of ‘diamond cut diamond.' But come, we are not out of it yet. We have far to go and much to do. We must leave this track and strike for the river, where we can lose the trail. As for Hepanaia, he's all right. He'll wake up in a few hours and won't remember a bit about what he's been doing. Won't there be a row in the pah neither. It would almost be worth one's while to be there to see it.” And so saying, he struck off to the right, and the dim shadows of the forest soon swallowed the two fugitives up.

45 The North Cape of the North Island of New Zealand

[Note added by Delaney McQuoid as annotator]

46 Cape Palliser, the South East point of the North Island of New Zealand.

[Note added by Delaney McQuoid as annotator]

47 East Cape.

[Note added by Delaney McQuoid as annotator]

48 Cape Egmont, the most westerly point of the North Island

[Note added by Delaney McQuoid as annotator]

49 A greenstone ornament or amulet suspended round the neck, and worn on the breast.

[Note added by Delaney McQuoid as annotator]

50 means "witchcraft", "sorcery", "to bewitch"; and also a "spell or incantation". It may also be described as a belief in malignant occult powers possessed by certain people.

[Note added by Delaney McQuoid as annotator]

51 Long Water. Wai means water or river; and roa, long.

[Note added by Delaney McQuoid as annotator]