Chapter IV.

Major Parry, guided by Toi Korro, visited a good number of chiefs, and made much the same style of speech to them all. Most of them replied with very fair words. They wished to be at peace with the English, and would be so unless they were deprived of the page 42 lands they claimed as their own. In most cases the major was able to reply, “Very well, then peace is secure, for you can claim, by right, no lands in these parts. These lands belonged to such and such a tribe, but your fathers came and killed them and eat them,

A New Zealand Chief.

page 43 and their few descendants are now living with the English. If the lands belong to any Maories they belong to them, not to you.” They could not deny this, and therefore had to acknowledge that they had no reason for going to war. Sometimes, however, Major Parry met with very black looks, and he could get no answer to his address. This was especially the case at the pah at which Yeda was once staying with her school companions.

The name of this chief was Moodewhy. He was of the old style. He wore the native cloak, and feathers in his hair, and bones hanging from his ears. His face was curiously tattoed all over, and though he used a musket in warfare, he generally appeared abroad with a spear in his hand. His eldest son, Matangee, was in most respects like him, and was desirous, it was said, to marry Yeda, Toi Korro's daughter. She, however, showed no inclination to become his wife, but on the contrary, a decided dislike to him, especially since her visit to Holmwood. This had made Matangee very angry, and still more inclined than ever to quarrel with the English. In vain Major Parry talked to old Moodewhy; his only reply was, that his fathers had driven their foes, who had trespassed on their lands, into the sea, and that he saw no reason why the present generation should not act in the same way towards their enemies. Toi Korro at length grew very uneasy, and he whispered to the major that the sooner they left the pah the better. When they got outside, the friendly chief said that he breathed more page 44 freely, and advised that they should endeavour to conceal their movements from the old chief, and that they should take a different direction to what they had proposed. The major saw the wisdom of this advice, and guided by Toi Korro, made a long circuit, calling on other leaders and chief men on their way. To all of them he read the governor's proclamation, and he was satisfied with the assurances he received that they would remain faithful to the English. Having made a long circuit, the party reached Toi Korro's pah. On entering the enclosure they found it, greatly to the chief's surprise, filled with people. In the centre stood Matangee. It was very evident what he was about. This was confirmed by Yeda, who ran forward to meet her father. “Oh speak to them,” she exclaimed; “or he will persuade them to join the rebels.”

On hearing this, the major, immediately producing the governor's dispatch, addressed the assembly, pointing out to them the advantages of remaining on friendly terms with the English.

“And you call that man your friend, oh, foolish Maori; he would plunge you into all the horrors of warfare, from which you can gain nothing, and are certain to suffer loss. Drive him from this pah, and let him know that you will not be deceived by his false arguments.”^*

Matangee looked very angry on hearing these words, and tried to speak, but public opinion had set against him. The instant he opened his mouth, page 45 loud cries arose, and he at last, losing his temper, turned round and rushed from the pah, vowing that he would be revenged.

“Let him go,” cried some of the leading men. “He may fume and rage, as our dogs can bark, but they dare not bite if they see a man with a stick in his hand.”

Toi Korro, however, seemed very much annoyed at what had happened. He said that he knew Matangee very well, and that he feared harm might come of it. It was quite late the next day when the major and his party, with Toi Korro still as their guide, arrived near Holmwood. As they approached the farm, they met Peter running towards them. He was in a state of great agitation.

“What's the matter?” asked the major, seeing that something was wrong. “Is your mistress or Miss Emily ill, or the other children?”

“Oh, worse than that, sir; very much worse, sir,” answered Peter, wringing his hands. “Miss Emily, sir, and Jane, sir, went out to milk the cows which had got away, where we don't know, and they must have gone on and on, and have never come back again; and there's mistress in such a way, she says that the natives have taken them off. I don't know why she thinks so, but she's sure that they wouldn't have gone away by themselves. She is almost dead with fear, and it's all that Mrs. Perkins can do to keep her alive.”

As the major could get no more clear account from Peter of what happened, he hurried on to the page 46 house to see Mrs. Parry. He found her not quite so overcome with terror as Peter had described, but still very much alarmed at the absence of her daughter and Jane, and utterly unable to account for their prolonged absence.

“We will hope for the best, and that they have merely lost their way, dear wife,” answered the major, endeavouring to comfort Mrs. Parry. “However, no time is to be lost, and we will immediately go in chase. Let us have a supply of damper and cold meat, as we may be some time absent. The boys must remain to take charge of you and the house, and Peter will go in their place.”

All the arrangements were quickly made, and without stopping to eat, but putting their suppers in their pockets, they set off in search of the missing girls.

Toi Korro had not yet given his opinion as to whether they had simply lost their way, or had been carried off by the natives. “We will see soon, we will see soon,” was all he would say. First, they had to look for the traces of the cows. These were soon found; the animals had gone a little way beyond their usual bounds, so Peter said, but not much, and appeared to have been there for some time, feeding quietly. Toi Korro was examining the ground on every side. A frown gathered on his brow, and he shook his head. “Yes, Maori have been here, and drove away the cows,” he said, pointing in the direction in which he knew that they had gone. He now walked on quickly, examining the trees and bushes page 47 on every side. Major Parry anxiously inquired whether he thought that the two girls had fallen into the hands of the Maories. Toi Korro's reply was to the effect that the natives had found the cows, and driven them away, and that the girls not knowing this, but tracing them, had followed in the hopes of overtaking the supposed runaways. More, as yet he could not say. On they therefore went, as fast as they could move, every moment hoping to have the mystery discovered. Again Toi Korro stopped. He looked about carefully.

“Yes, I see. Here they first found the Maories driving away the cattle,” he exclaimed. “They turned and ran towards home, but fleet as were their feet, their pursuers were fleeter. They were soon overtaken. Now, like brave girls, they stood to face their enemies. They talked with them, but to no effect, and once more they attempted to escape. They were again overtaken, and carried away, struggling to escape.” It would be difficult to describe the feelings of the major, on hearing of the way his daughter had been treated. Peter was equally agitated, for the sake of Jane. They naturally were eager to hurry off in pursuit, but caution was necessary. The natives who had dared to commit so great an outrage would not hesitate about attacking and killing them, if taken at a vantage. Toi Korro said that there would be no difficulty in tracing them and finding out who they were. He had his suspicions on that subject, but he would not state his opinion just yet. Not much time was lost in consultations. They pushed page 48 on as long as there was daylight, and then Toi Korro said that he could no longer see the tracks, and that they must camp. He objected to having a fire lighted, lest any enemies prowling about might come suddenly on them; they had, therefore, to eat their provisions cold, while they spoke scarcely above a whisper. Under these circumstances it was difficult to keep up their spirits.

It was late before any of the party slept. Two at a time kept watch over the sleepers, going round and round, and stopping at certain spots agreed on; so that it would have been very difficult for an enemy to have taken them unawares. Thus the night passed slowly away. At the first streaks of dawn they were on foot. Breakfast did not take them long to despatch, and by the time their knapsacks were strapped again to their backs, there was light enough for Toi Korro to trace the tracks of the animals and the people who were driving them off.

Some time after this, the chief stopped and said, “I now know who were the robbers. Yonder pathway leads to Moodewhy's pah, and now I know that Matangee, his son, is the robber.”

“Then do you think that my daughter and her companion have been carried there?” asked the major.

“I have no doubt they have, and that they are now within the pah, so that there is no use in our following them farther,” answered Toi Korro; at least so the major understood him, for of course what he said was a mixture of English and Maori, helped out by signs.

Notwithstanding the chief's opinion, the major wished to proceed farther, to satisfy himself that the robbers had really gone to the pah. Peter, too, wanted to go on by himself into the pah, and to insist on Matangee's delivering his captives up. “If he won't, why I'll up with my fists and knock him down. That's my notion of doing things,” he observed to Tim, who highly approved of his plan, and offered to accompany him.

“You'll not succeed in that way, lads, you may be sure,” remarked Allan. “We must go to work with what they call diplomacy, that is, you must talk and wheedle them, and stroke them as you would a cat, though there's no harm just showing them that you have a thick stick behind your back, which you can use if necessary, only you must take care that they don't get it out of your hand.”

The chief agreed to go another mile that he might satisfy his companions, who eagerly hurried on, every moment thinking that they might gain some further information to guide them. They found, however, in the end, that the chief was right; so leaving the track they struck off on one side towards his pah. They walked on as fast as they could, for they were very eager to take some steps for the recovery of the girls. On reaching the pah, Yeda, the chief's daughter, did not come out to meet him as was her custom.

“Where is she? Is she well?” he asked of the first person he saw within the enclosure.

“She was well yesterday; but her friend Madu, the daughter of Moodewhy, arrived at an early hour page 50 and soon afterwards they set off together, saying that they would soon return; but they have not yet come back,” was the answer.

The chief was puzzled. His daughter had left no message. Women in New Zealand are allowed a good deal of liberty; still it is not the custom for young girls to go away from home without the leave of their parents, or without letting them know where they are going.

Toi Korro could only suppose that by some means or other Madu had found out that her brother Matangee purposed mischief of some sort against Major Parry's family, and through friendship to Yeda, had come to inform her, and to assist her, perhaps, in preventing it.