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The Hill of Enchantment
A Maori Legend

By Enid B. V. Saunders

The tribesmen of Te Whiti were accounted prosperous, judged by the fertility of their lands and the strength of their warriors. Their dwelling-houses were adorned with carvings, and they possessed many fine cloaks and weapons. Among the tutua, the low-born persons of the tribe, was a youth named Wiri. One day while he was engaged in clearing a piece of ground ready for cultivation, Ehu, the daughter of Te Whiti, went past with some of her companions. She paid no attention to Wiri—to her he was just a man digging and what reason was there for her to notice him particularly?—but the lad was quite overcome by her beauty and stood dreaming long after her graceful figure had passed from sight. Hitherto he had been contented enough for he had been well-treated and his food was plentiful; but now he was gripped by a disturbing restlessness that work could not cure or slumber quieten. Night after night, Wiri lay awake wondering what daring act he could perform so that the maiden would be aware of him. How else could he expect one of such exalted rank to regard an inferior fellow like himself in a favourable light? So he pondered and planned until at length a scheme was devised.

Te Whiti had long been at enmity with the tribe of Ngapuri which was led by the chieftain Raurangi. These people were well-known for their cruel exploits, and instances of their treachery were many. When Raurangi died, however, their raids grew less frequent, for they lacked the fierce guidance of their former leader. Indeed, comparative peace ruled between the two tribes, but Te Whiti was not disposed towards true friendliness, for had not his young son been struck down in battle by one of Raurangi's men? Wiri's plan was this: he would make a secret journey inland to the fortified village of the Ngapuri and under cover of darkness ascend the lower hill-slope and thence gain the crest where the bones of Raurangi had their resting-place. If he removed the skull and presented it to Te Whiti that chief would surely be revenged for the loss of his son. The young man was fully aware of the dangers attending such a hazardous undertaking. Apart from the unfortunate death awaiting him should he be captured by the enemy there was the fear of evil overtaking anyone who disturbed the burial-ground of a chief. So strong was this belief among the people that nobody would go near the place even in daylight. Besides, it was said that this particular hill was the abode of parangeki, of spirits, for had not old Wairau, the seer, been known to perform incantations there? On these counts, together with the fact that weird, rumbling noises sometimes issued from the vicinity, it was called by the local natives the Hill of Enchantment.

Taking all things into consideration Wiri's courage was of the highest order. He chose his time of departure wisely, slipping away before dawn one morning so as to be well on his way by sunrise. Two days travelling and he was nearing Ngapuri territory. He reconnoitred as closely as he dared in order to become familiar with the land in the dark, and, at nightfall, stealthily and with the utmost care he crept past the outskirts of the pa and reached the other side of the hill. Concealing himself behind some boulders he lay down to wait the first streaks of light in the east. No wind stirred as he started to climb the hill; no birds sang in the grey bush-slopes, and a deep stillness seemed to lie heavily over the place. Presently the trees grew thinner and there were patches of sharp rocks and great, black holes of water. The uncanny silence began to have its effect on him, and as the daylight grew stronger a new terror possessed him, for now it seemed as though countless eyes watched his every step, countless unseen forms lurked near to strike him. Fear urged him to turn back, yet love of a maiden drove him on: better to perish on this forsaken hill side than to return to an existence bereft of all hope of winning the affection of his loved one.

At last the breasted the bleakfurrowed summit where a hollow tree trunk protected the remains of the ruthless old fighter, Raurangi. Fearfully and expecting some terrible calamity to befall him any minute, Wiri approached the elaborately carved casket with its gleaming ornamentations of blue and green pauashell. He was about half-way down the hill with his gruesome burden when the quietness was broken by a queer rumbling sound. The murky water in a pool nearby started to bubble and hiss; the earth shook violently and huge clefts appeared in the rocks. Suddenly fire and smoke began to pour forth from the hill-top. A falling boulder caught Wiri a sharp blow on the head and for a long period he knew nothing of the happenings around him.

When at length he regained his senses sufficiently to complete the descent he found a desolate sight. Most of the forest on the lower slopes had disappeared and the entire village on the opposite side of the hill had been wiped out by a tremendous landslide. Not one person had escaped so swift had been the onslaught of the earthquake. Thus was the prophecy concerning the desecrating of the sacred burial-ground fulfilled, though not in the way the followers of Raurangi had foretold, and thus by the daring of Wiri the slave, was the tribe of Te Whiti avenged for the numerous insults and losses they had suffered through these marauders.

“It was surely the will of the firegoddess, Mahiuka, that they should be destroyed because of their misdeeds,” the people said.

As for Wiri, his bravery was recounted in song and story, so that he became a hero not only to his tribesmen, but in the eyes of the beautiful Ehu, whom he loved. And the Hill of Enchantment to this day is avoided by native and pakeha alike. Forbidding and solitary it stands above the surrounding country, with the ugly cratergash on its north side as a reminder of the fate that overtook a treacherous people many years ago.