"War to the Knife;" or, Tangata Maori by Rolf Boldrewood (e novels to read TXT) 📗

her spirit. As in the Northern Britain, with its frequent rain and hail, mist and snow, this rare day, on which the disturbing forces of the elements held truce, was inexpressibly lovely. The mountain snow-crown was revealed in all its purity and austere majesty, a silver diadem against the blue and lustrous heavens. The fruit trees in the garden, the oaks and elms, poplars and walnuts, planted in fond remembrance of the dear old home-land, seemed bursting into redundant greenery. The river rippled and murmured under its o'er-arching ferns, and as the little band of dark-skinned children, with their glancing eyes and smiling faces, all obedient and cheerful, passed on to the modest building, wherein they were daily so patiently taught by their pastor and his wife, she could hardly refrain from expressing her thankfulness for the success of this single-hearted enterprise, in which she had been deemed worthy to share.

That the wave of barbaric warfare might at any moment sweep over the peaceful scene, leaving ruin and desolation in its track, seemed, in the glory of that beauteous morn, incredible and preposterous. During later musings, however, when the routine business of the little school failed to absorb her [Pg 320] attention, the thought would obtrude itself of the strange complication of affairs which would arise if, as was rumoured, Roland was about to marry this half-savage girl, as she could not but consider her. Beautiful she was by all report, devoted she must have been to her white lover, educated to a certain extent, and, in virtue of her father's lands granted in earlier times, an heiress of considerable pretensions. But——! She well knew what a death-in-life it would be considered by his English friends. Of course, it was far from improbable. Younger sons and others of aristocratic British families had married these fascinating half-caste girls, even those of pure Maori blood. This she knew from authentic sources. In this distant land, so far from British social edicts, such a marriage was not looked upon as a m�salliance. And if such should be his lot, who would have been the dominant factor in thus shaping his destiny? Who but herself, unwilling, doubtless, but none the less the primary agent in his deportation, his colonial career, with its risks, dangers, and this irrevocable lapse—finally, his absorption in a different class and an alien race? She felt minded to groan aloud. Why should she have been selected to work all this misery and ruin, ending, perhaps, in death? Why could she not foresee the direful consequences flowing from his fatal entrainement?

It was hard, very hard. Other men had paid her court before and since his advent. They had accepted their dismissals calmly, carelessly, irritably, sullenly, according to their several temperaments; in no case had serious results followed. They had mended their damaged or disturbed organs by philosophy, travel ,[Pg 321] gaiety, or marriage, chiefly affecting the latter anodyne. It was surely one of the ironies of Fate that the consequences to this particular pretendu had been so serious—the only one as to whose denial she had felt suspicion of her heart's teaching in the ordeal.

Now, at least, all was over. She had decreed that he should have no further part or lot in her life. If he was safe, Fate might do her worst. She had always claimed the right to mould her own existence. Surely she could do so still. Yet she sighed as she told herself thus proudly that she was sufficient for her own high conception of duty. As to happiness, that was another thing. Who were we, worms of the dust, ephemera of the hour, that we should arrogate to ourselves the right to a condition of perfect satisfaction? Harmony with our surroundings, always improbable, was chiefly impossible. The stars in their courses, as well as all the powers of darkness, were leagued to prevent it. And yet—and yet——Here the introspective reverie ceased, and Hypatia recalled herself to the more urgent and practical demands of daily life.

On the following morning Mr. Summers appeared at breakfast in an unwonted state of excitement, almost of agitation.

"What is the matter, my dear Cyril," inquired the anxious wife. "Is the war news worse than usual?"

"Not quite so bad as that," he said, with a reassuring smile, "but important, notwithstanding. I have just heard that the bishop is coming to pay us a visit, and will stay all night on his way to Tauranga."

"How did you hear? You quite frightened me. [Pg 322] I shall be charmed to have him. Hypatia will be overjoyed, I know. He is one of her heroes."

"A Maori messenger gave me this note," he replied, producing a twisted and discoloured piece of paper, on which was written—

"My dear Cyril,

"I propose, with God's blessing, to be with you on Tuesday at midday. If Mrs. Summers can accommodate me, I should like to remain with you for one night. Will hold service in afternoon. Assemble the people—it may be for the last time.

"G. A. New Zealand."

"And when does he say that we may expect him?" asked Hypatia.

"At or before midday," replied Mr. Summers. "Of course, he will only remain for the night, as he is anxious to push on to Tauranga. But he would like to hold an afternoon service; so I must get in all our people in the neighbourhood, and, of course, the school-children."

"I am charmed with the idea," said Hypatia. "Just fancy! I have had him in my thoughts ever since I thought of coming to New Zealand. One does not often see an apostle in the flesh. And he is one, if ever it is given to man to behold one of God's messengers."

"That I, too, am overjoyed, you will not doubt," said Cyril. "I have a filial feeling towards him. I was one of his curates when he first came to New Zealand. How many a long journey on foot we made together! He is a tireless walker, and a [Pg 323] champion athlete in half a dozen classes. Such a man in a boat, too! He has risked his life scores of times to my knowledge. And now to think that so much of his life's labour has been lost! It is heartbreaking."

"Do not say that, my dear Cyril," came in Mary Summers' quiet voice. "The good seed has been sown. In the time to come it will bring forth, 'some fiftyfold, some an hundredfold,' as we are told in God's Word. Look what poor Henare Taratoa did, even when fighting against us in the Gate Pah! That was the fruit of our teaching here, I am thankful to say."

"What was that?" said Hypatia.

"One of the Maori women that came away from the Gate Pah said that when Colonel Booth was lying mortally wounded and perishing with thirst—for there was no water in the pah for the last two days—Henare stole out by night and passed through our lines, thereby risking his life, and brought back a calabash of water, which he placed by the side of the dying man. It was found there next morning by our men after the natives had left the pah."

"What a splendid fellow!" said Hypatia. "He fought for his country, as why should he not? But then, having received the Christian faith, he followed implicitly the precepts he had learned. Our men would have given water to wounded Maoris, but which of them would have risked his life to procure it?"

"I could tell you of other instances of similar conduct," said Mr. Summers. "The bishop, when he comes, will, I am sure, add to my list. But we must [Pg 324] set to work now to ensure him a suitable reception. You will have a sermon, too, which, like all his addresses, will be deeply impressive."

All requisite preparations having been made, and a sort of "fiery cross" sent round in the hands of a fleet-limbed native youngster, a considerable gathering of Maoris of all ages and conditions was present at the appointed time. They came in honour of that heroic personage, George Augustus Selwyn, the famous Bishop of New Zealand, the hero of a hundred legends, the pioneer missionary, the modern embodiment of faith, zeal, and devotion, who had always been willing—nay, passionately eager—in the words of St. Paul, "to spend and be spent" in the service of his Master.

Hypatia stood back a little space while Mr. Summers and his wife warmly welcomed their pastor and master, with an earnestness there was no mistaking. The dark-skinned contingent then closed in, and obstructed her view of the man whom (with one exception), of all living personages, she was the most anxious to see, whom by reputation she honoured with a feeling akin to adoration.

He had come attended only by a middle-aged Maori, whose grizzled countenance and war-worn features showed that he had done his share in the professional occupation of the Maori gentilhomme of the period. He stood apart, leaning on his musket, but from the respect with which he was treated by all who approached, it was evident that he was a personage of no ordinary consideration.

It was a scene of more than ordinary interest. The older members of the hapu who still dwelt in [Pg 325] the vicinity of the mission, were chiefly those who from age or infirmity were debarred from going to the war, then waged within so short a distance of their homes. A large proportion was composed of women, children, and young people not yet entitled to rank as combatants. All in turn came to be presented to the Pihopa Rangatira, making obeisance due and lowly. To each one he addressed a few words in Maori, the replies to which were made with evident pleasure, the children almost gasping with pride and gratification at the honour of the interview. Inquiries were made after well-known men, who had formerly been regular attendants at the little church, but too often resulted in downcast looks, as the sad word mat� (dead) came forth, and in broken accents the name of the battle, skirmish, or locality was uttered. Well posted in the personal history of the missionary centres and their converts, the bishop never failed to bestow a word of sympathy or condolence upon the mourners.

The reception being ended, Mr. Summers announced that the assembly was free to betake itself to their kai (or meal), which had been prepared, taxing to the utmost the resources of the establishment.

"Permit me, my lord, to present to you Miss Tollemache, a friend and schoolfellow of my wife," said Mr. Summers, as they moved towards the cottage. "A young lady lately from England, who has cast in her lot with us."

The bishop looked with extreme surprise at the distinguished-looking girl, so unlike what he naturally expected to see at the place and time. Bowing, however, with easy grace, he said—

[Pg 326]

"I am afraid I cannot congratulate you upon the occasion you have selected in which to commence your labours in the Master's vineyard. Have you had previous experience, may I ask?"

"I have had two years' work in and around Whitechapel," said she. "I took up the East End City Mission work soon after I finished my college course."

"Then you have quitted your first sphere of usefulness, may I say, for a wider field?"

"I discovered," said Hypatia, "that the locality was not suited to my age and disposition. I retired in favour of more experienced workers. Gathering from the letters of my dear friend and schoolfellow, Mrs. Summers, that she needed help, I decided to come here."

"And you did well, my dear young lady, to follow the dictates of your heart, though I would it had happened a few years previously, when we were all rejoicing in the fruition of our hopes and the visible reward of years of toil and privation. Now, alas! there have been sad backslidings, griefs, and discouragements. I have been sorely tempted to despair; but He who has hitherto led us through the wilderness will not abandon us now. May His blessing be upon you, my dear child, and upon all in this household. Though terrors encompass us, we know in whom to trust, as our Defender and Guide."

As he spoke, standing within sight of the mountain and the wave, with head raised, and that noble countenance illumined with the courage that is not of this earth—the fervent faith in things not seen—he appeared to Hypatia as a prophet inspired, [Pg 327] transfigured, worthy to bear His sacred message, to speak the words of the Most High. Her overwrought emotional feelings overpowered her. Yielding to an irresistible impulse, she cast herself on her knees before him and cried aloud—

"Bless me, O my father, even me!"

Strongly stirred, the good bishop laid his hands solemnly upon her head, saying—

"May the Lord God, Most High, Most Mighty, bless, protect, and save thee, dear child, from all evils of body and mind, also from all the sorrows and terrors of this distracted land. May He shield thee in the hour of need, and may His guidance be with thee until thou art led in safety to thy home and thy friends. For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."

Hypatia retired to the