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

little room which she had occupied since her sojourn in Oropi, feeling a renewed confidence in the vocation which she had adopted, and a fervent resolve to persevere in the path marked out for her, no matter what obstacles might present themselves.

When she appeared at the simple midday meal, all traces of emotion and excitement had vanished. The little household talked freely of the conclusion of the war as being at hand, and, that once an established fact, the recovery of the country and the revival of the Church were but matters of time.

"And do you think that the two races will ever agree to live in peace and amity, after all the blood that has been shed?" asked Hypatia, leaning forward with a rapt and eager look upon her face which reminded the bishop of the early Christian martyrs.

"One may well doubt, Miss Tollemache," said he, [Pg 328] with a sad yet unshaken air of confidence. "The best blood of England has been shed like water in these sieges and engagements. Still, I foresee the termination. It cannot be distant now. The flower of the Maori warriors and their leading chiefs lie low. All history teaches us that a conquered people is always absorbed into the superior race in course of time."

"But the difference in origin and tradition?" queried Mr. Summers.

"Is by no means an insuperable obstacle," answered the bishop. "In those mixed unions which have already taken place, no degeneration of type is apparent; indeed, to speak frankly, it has even appeared to me that the offspring in many instances show an advance, physically and mentally, upon both the parent stocks. I could name instances, but it is perhaps unnecessary."

"We have our Joan of Arc, too," interposed Mrs. Summers; "only, unfortunately for the romance, she is fighting or nursing, whichever it may be, on the invaders' side."

"You mean Erena Mannering," said the bishop. "I know her well—or did, rather, in the dear old past days. She is truly a noble damsel in every sense of the word. Her Herculean father is a paladin for valour, struggling with the tastes of a savant and philosopher. In a different age he would have stood at a monarch's right hand, or more probably have been a conqueror in his own person. Her mother was a chieftainess, brave, beautiful, and of long descent. No wonder that she is a marvel of womanhood!"

[Pg 329]

"She is not without friends who appreciate her," said Hypatia, smiling at the enthusiasm of the sympathetic prelate. "Fortunate girl! to be born to a heroine's task, a heroine's applause. This is the last home of romance, it would appear, since it has quitted Britain, at any rate for the present."

"Have you heard the last rumour about her, my lord?" said Mr. Summers.

"No, indeed. Koihua and I came across the bush after leaving the Forest Rangers before Orakau. I trust no harm to her is feared."

"No, but the situation is not wholly free from risk. A young lieutenant of the Forest Rangers, wounded in the storming party, which was repulsed at the Gate Pah, is reported missing. It is said that she was seen with a small party of natives, who carried him off at the bidding of her father, and that neither she nor he have been since heard of."

"In that case it is most probable that she saved his life, and, in the absence of definite information, I should be inclined to believe that he has been taken to a place of safety, where he will remain for the present. What did you say his name was?"

"Roland Massinger."

"Not De Massinger of the Court, in Herefordshire—surely not?" said the bishop, more keenly interested. "I saw him in camp when I came from Pukerimu, poor boy! I knew his people well in England—among the very oldest families in the land. I met him soon after his arrival in Auckland. Whatever hard fate brought him into this disastrous strife? But I should not say fate; rather the will of God, which often from present chastening leads to our [Pg 330] eventual gain. But the time draws near for our service—the last, most probably, that I shall hold here. It will be my farewell to these poor people, whom I have loved and prayed for so often."

And as the good man retired to his chamber for the preparation of prayer which he always held to be necessary, even in the most thinly populated and apparently humble localities, Hypatia took the opportunity of escaping from a conversation which threatened embarrassing conditions.

Punctually at the appointed hour, the bell of the little church having sounded for the canonical time, the man of God walked through the crowd of dark-skinned proselytes, who awaited his arrival with unaffected reverence; and murmurs of approbation were heard as he paced with solemn steps towards the humble building, for which many of those present had contributed labour or materials. Yet were not all fully agreed. Some of the older men had been acted upon by the disaffected of the tribe, and hardly concealed their distrust of the pihopa, who went between the contending forces, and might, perhaps, convey information to their foes. This allegation, openly made at the rebel camp, caused the good bishop the most poignant grief—to think that his people, his children in the Lord, as he fondly called them, should distrust him, who for them, for their present advantage and eternal weal, had sacrificed the intellectual luxuries of the parent land, his place among the noble and the great, all the unspeakable social advantages which await the distinguished son of literature and the Church in Britain! And for what? To live in self-imposed exile in a distant [Pg 331] colony, among a barbarous people but recently redeemed from the grossest heathen practices! It was more than discouraging, it was heartbreaking, to one of his sensitive temperament and fervent spirit.

The service of the Church of England was read by Mr. Summers. Hypatia was touched by the manner in which the responses were made by young and old. Nowhere in the world could more earnestness have been shown, less apparent wavering from the appointed ritual, which was wholly in the Maori tongue. She had made sufficient progress in the language to follow easily—a task lightened by the preponderance of vowels and the disuse of the perplexing consonants so frequent in European tongues. A greater advance can be made in Maori in a shorter time than in almost any living language. There is much of the ore rotundo claimed for the noble fundamental languages, which now only survive among degenerate descendants of the orators, warriors, statesmen, and artists, who, while they rolled out the sonorous sentences, swayed the known world with their pre-eminence in arts and arms, speech and song.

The prayers of the Anglican Church were concluded. Then the great apostle of the South Seas ascended an ornate pulpit, the gift of a few English friends of Mr. Summers, the carving of which had much impressed the native congregation, themselves by no means without practice in this ancient section of art. In his sermon—short, fervent, and chiefly persuasive—he appealed to those better feelings which the teaching of the missionary clergy, of whatever [Pg 332] denomination, had been chiefly desirous of fostering. "What," he asked, "had been the condition of the tribes before that great and good man Marsden, the pioneer pastor, came among them? War unbridled, ruthless, remorseless, with its accompaniments still more dreadful—slavery, torture, child-murder, the eating of human flesh, practices which, to their honour be it spoken, the Maoris as a nation had discontinued. Were they not ashamed of these things?" ("Yes, yes!" from the assembled crowd.) "Who had taught them to be ashamed of these things? The missionary clergy, the pakeha from beyond the seas. Who had given them the seed, the grain, the potato, the domestic animals, the tools of iron, from which they now reaped such abundant harvests and stores of produce? Bread, flour-mills, garden-seeds and vegetables,—all these came from the pakeha. Who taught them the use of all these things? The Mikonaree. He laboured with his hands, he lived poorly, he coveted nothing for himself, he only held a small portion of their waste lands on which to grow food for himself and his family.

"He had done all this. But he had done more. He had taught them to worship the only true God, and His Son Jesus Christ our Lord—the God of mercy, of truth, of charity, of peace. And had they not lived in peace, in plenty, in good will among themselves, until this war arose, which was now raging to the destruction of Maori and pakeha alike? Who counselled this shedding of blood, this burning of pahs? The clergy? No. They knew that the voice of every clergyman, every missionary in both [Pg 333] islands, had been against it, was against it now. If his advice had been taken, a runanga would have been held, of the wisest pakehas and the high rangatiras. Judges like Mannering and Waterton would have sat there—men who knew the Maori tongue and the Maori customs. They would have done justice. The Waitara would never have been bought from Teira. The Maori law would have been respected, as well as the English law, in which every man has equal rights, the native as well as the pakeha. Then there would have been no war; no killing of pakeha settlers who wished to cultivate the soil and to live in peace; no death of the soldiers and sailors; no death of the volunteers who wished to buy and sell in the towns, who bought the natives' pigs and potatoes, their wheat and their flax; no death of high chiefs or of the young men of the tribes, of officers of the troops, of officers of the ships. All these of the young and the old who now lie cold in the earth or beneath the sky would be alive and well this day." Here more than one face betrayed deep feeling; falling tears and gestures of unutterable anguish told their tale.

"But the war, unhappily, had commenced, and still raged. Unwise white men, proud and haughty chiefs, had been impatient, and forced on the war. Had the Maoris respected the lessons they had been taught, and been patient, even when suffering injustice, all would have been well. The Waitara block would have been given up. It has been given up now. They had many friends in the pakeha runanga; even in Sydney the Kawana Dennitoni had sent a letter in their favour, warning the council of the [Pg 334] pakehas not to take Waitara. But there were unwise men on both sides. Blood was shed. And the state of war took place. And now you will say, 'This is all very well, but we knew much of this before. The state of war is accomplished. What are we to do? What is best for the Maori people?'

"I will tell you. This is my saying. I have prayed to God that it may be right and wise, according to His will, and for your benefit, who are my children in the Lord. We have always taught you to desire peace—peace and good will towards all men. Cherish no more hard feelings against the pakeha. You will have to live in the land with him. His race is the stronger, the more numerous; he has ships, soldiers, and guns, more than you can number; they are like the sands of the seashore.

"The war must soon be over. I, who speak to you now, say so. Heed not those foolish men of your race who tell you to go on fighting. It is of no use. When the last battle is fought, and my words come true, yield yourself to the Kawana, Hori Grey, saying, 'We are conquered. Show us mercy. We desire peace for the future.' He has always been a friend of the Maori people. He is a friend now. You will find that you will receive mercy, that a portion of your lands will be restored to you. Not all. Part will be taken for utu, as by Maori custom. After that I say, heed my words and those of the good Mikonaree who have always tried to do you good—who will do you more good in the future. 'Love your enemies; do good to those who despitefully use you. If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink,' as did Henare Taratoa, whom I taught when he was [Pg 335] young. You can read your Bible, many of you. Do what you are there commanded, and it will be well with you.

"And now it may be that you will see my face no more. I have been called back to the land whence I came, so many years ago, to do you good, to help, to teach every man, woman, and child in this land of Maui; such I may have done, though the seed of the Word has sometimes perished by the wayside. But other seed, I will believe, has taken root, and will bring forth, in due time, some twenty, some fifty, some an hundred fold.

"And when the day comes, as come it will, when peace overspreads the land, when