Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. "War to the Knife;" or, Tangata Maori by Rolf Boldrewood (top 10 novels of all time .txt) 📖
- Author: Rolf Boldrewood
Book online «"War to the Knife;" or, Tangata Maori by Rolf Boldrewood (top 10 novels of all time .txt) 📖». Author Rolf Boldrewood
"Well," returned Massinger, rather taken aback, "I am afraid I must own that they do, now I come to think of it. They hoe turnip and potato fields, reap and bind in harvest time; and, yes, the fishermen's wives and the colliers' daughters work—pretty hard, too. In France and Germany I have often thought they worked harder than the men."
"Ah! I see," said Erena, with a flash of her large dark eyes, illumined with a sudden fire, which completely altered the expression of her countenance. "Men are alike in all countries. They take the easy work, under pretence of responsibility, and leave the drudgery to the poor women. In one respect, however, we have the advantage. We can speak and vote in the councils of the tribe."
"You don't say so! I should like to hear you speak in public, above all things. Have you ever done so?"
"Sometimes," said she, relapsing into seriousness; "and if certain events come to pass, you may hear me make more than one speech in the runanga before the year is out."
"How interesting!" he said, gazing at her with admiration, as she stood in classic pose, with fixed gaze, and every graceful outline denoting arrested motion.
"I thought it better to strike across to this valley of Waiotapu first," said Warwick, "though Erena was in favour of going straight to Rotorua. However, she now agrees with me, that you can have a foretaste of [Pg 137] volcanic action here, and take the main Taupo road to the terraces, returning by Rotorua, which is the home of the hapu, or section of her tribe."
"It is, after all, the best route, perhaps," said she, smiling frankly. "You can reach the terraces easily now, and afterwards rest at Rotorua before returning to Auckland. There is also another reason."
"What is that?" inquired Massinger, as he saw the girl's face change, and her eyes once more become clouded over with the mysterious sadness which from time to time dimmed her brightest expression.
"I am nearly certain that there will be an outbreak—perhaps even war declared—before we return. In that case——"
"In that case I should join the first body of volunteers I could come at, or your own loyal tribe, if it remains so."
"I have every belief that Waka Nene will remain as true to your people as he was in the old war, when he fought against Heke, and did such good work in beating back Kawiti. My mother's brother, a noted chief, died fighting for your people. But this will bring the tribes nearer together; they may make common cause against the pakeha. It will be a fight to the death. Some of the friendly tribes may waver. I would advise your going to your own people without delay from Rotorua."
"And how about a guide? Warwick may not care to undertake the task in the face of—what may happen."
"In that case"—and as she spoke, her inmost soul seemed to look forth in high resolve through the lustrous eyes, now informed with the mystic fire of the sybil—"I will ensure you a guide who knows the secret paths even better than Warwick."
[Pg 138]
Massinger said no more. The countenance of Warwick wore a look of mingled doubt and admiration, after which he ordered the attendant natives to make the usual arrangements for a camp.
"We shall need no fire, that is one thing," he said, turning to the Englishman.
"How is that?" he inquired.
"Nature is good enough to contract for the cooking here, which is the least she can do before she blows them all up some fine day. Just watch these people directly."
As indeed he did, much marvelling.
First of all, two of the women cleared a space, about three feet long and two wide, in the warm earth; into this they placed a layer of stones, which they covered with leaves. Upon this were placed the pork, the kumeras, and some pigeons shot on the way, all of which were rapidly and satisfactorily cooked. The evening meal, so miraculously prepared, as it seemed, having been concluded, Erena retired with her female attendants, pleading the necessity for a night's rest to prepare them for the opening day of the Great Exhibition. The two men walked up and down, smoking the meditative pipe. But long after his companion had retired to rest, Massinger lay awake, unable to sleep amid the strange, almost preternatural, features of the locality, while the anticipation of a war between his countrymen and this stubborn and revengeful people taxed his brain with incessantly recurring thoughts.
What would be the first act in the drama? He thought of isolated families of the settlers, now living in apparent peace and security, abandoned to the cruelty of a remorseless enemy. Would the horrors of Indian warfare be repeated? Would a partial [Pg 139] success, which, from their advantageous position, and the absence of any large body of regular troops, the natives were likely to gain, be avenged by merciless slaughter? In either case, what bloodshed, agony, wrongs irrevocable and unspeakable, were certain to ensue! What would be the outcome? He thought of the farmsteadings he had seen, with neat homesteads, garnered grain, contented hardy workers, their rosy-cheeked children playing amidst the orchards. Were these to be left desolate, burned, ravaged, as would be inevitable with all outside the line of defence? Then, again, the populous kaingas, with grave rangatiras and stalwart warriors; the merry chattering wahines, sitting amid their children when the day was over, much like other people's wives and children, enjoying far more natural comfort than the British labourers' families—were they also to be driven from their pleasant homes, starved, harried, pursued night and day by the avenger of blood? Like the heathen of old, dislodged by the chosen people with so little mercy? The carefully kept kumera plantations, so promising for another season, were they to be plundered or destroyed? The lines from Keble returned to his memory—
Was all this murder and misery to take place because the representatives of a great nation differed with a quasi-barbarous, but distinctly dignified, lord of the manor about the title to an area of comparatively small value when compared with the millions of acres of arable and pasture still for sale, undisputed?
A contention as to title by English law ousted [Pg 140] the jurisdiction of magistrates in an assault case. Why should not this paltry squabble about an insignificant portion await an authoritative legal decision? No people apparently understood the deliberate verdict of a Court better than these Maoris. Delay, even protracted delay, would have been truly wise and merciful in view of the grisly alternative of war. Such a war, too, as it was likely to be!
However, though Erena and Warwick were confident of a fight, no official notice had yet reached them. It might yet be avoided, and so hoping, after hearing with increasing distinctness all manner of strange and fearful sounds, above, around, beneath, our traveller fell asleep.
The morning proved fine. As Massinger left his couch, the half-arisen sun was reluming a landscape neither picturesque nor alluring. Wild and wondrous it certainly was; upon such the eyes of the pakeha had never before rested. The elements had apparently been at play above and below the earth's surface, which showed signs of no common derangement. Rugged defiles, strangely assorted hillocks of differing size, colour, and elevation. A scarred volcanic cone poured out steam from its base upward, while, between the whirling mists, igneous rocks glinted, like red-hot boulders, in the morning sun. Near this strange mountain was a lake, the glittering green of which contrasted with the darkly red incrustations heaped upon its margin. Looking southward, a sense of Titanic grandeur was added to the landscape by a vast snow-covered range, on the hither side of which, he had been told, lay the waters of the historic Taupo—Taupo Moana, "The Moaning Sea."
[Pg 141]
Strolling back to camp, his movements were quickened by observing that the rest of the party had finished the morning meal, and were only awaiting his arrival to commence the first day's sight-seeing. After a council of war, it was finally decided to remain in the valley for the rest of the day, making for Taupo and Rotomahana on the morrow.
"In this valley of Waiotapu," said Warwick, "you have a good idea, on a small scale, of Rotomahana and the terraces. The same sorts of pools are on view; you have also the feeling of being on the lid of a boiling cauldron, and can realize most of the sensations belonging to a place where you may be boiled alive or burnt to death at any moment."
"A romantic ending," replied Massinger; "but I don't wish to end my New Zealand career in such a strictly Maori fashion. What is one to do, to avoid incensing the Atua of this very queer region?"
"Be sure to follow me or Erena most carefully, and do not step away from the path, or into any water that you have not tried. One traveller did so, and, as it was at boiling heat, died next day, poor fellow! So now, let us begin. Do you see this yellow waterbasin? [Pg 142] This is the champagne pool. For the champagne, watch this effect." Here a couple of handfuls of earth were thrown in. Thereupon the strange water commenced to effervesce angrily, the circles spreading until the outermost edges of the pool were reached. "The outlet, you see, is over that slope, and is known as the Primrose Falls. But we must not linger. Beyond that boiling lake, with the steam clouds hanging over it, lies a terrace, gradually sloping, with ripples in the siliceous deposit, finally ending in miniature marble cascades."
"All this is wonderful and astonishing, but it is only the beginning of the play. I shall reserve my applause until the last act. I have been in strange places abroad, but never saw so many different sorts of miracles in one collection. What are those cliffs, for instance, so white and glistening?"
"The Alum Cliffs, sparkling with incrustations of alum. You notice that they rise almost perpendicularly from the hot-water pools? In contrast, the colour of the surrounding earth varies from pale yellow to Indian red and crimson. Some of the crystals you see around are strongly acid. The pools are all sorts of colours: some like pots of red paint, others green, blue, pink, orange, and cream."
"Evidently Nature's laboratories. What she will evolve is as yet unknown to us. Let us hope it will be more or less beneficial."
"It is hard to say," replied Warwick, musingly. "There is a legend among the Maoris that, many generations since, this valley, now so desolate, was covered with villages, the soil being very productive; that the inhabitants displeased the local Atua, upon [Pg 143] which he ordered a volcano in the neighbourhood to pour forth its fiery flood. An eruption followed, which covered the village many feet deep with the scoria and mud which, in a hardened state, you now see."
"Highly probable. I can believe anything of this sulphur-laden Valley of the Shadow. And did the mountain disappear also?"
"No! there he stands, three thousand feet high, quite ready, if one may judge from appearances, for another fiery shower. Let us hope he will not do it in our time. In the mean time, look at this Boiling Lake. Is not the water beautifully blue? And what clouds of steam! It is much the same, except in size, as the one above the Pink Terrace."
The day wore on as they rambled from one spot to another of the magical region.
"It is a city of the genii," said Massinger, as he watched the guide apply a match to one of a number of metallic-looking mounds, which promptly caught fire, and blazed until quenched. "Where in the world, except a naphtha lake, could one find such an inflammable rest for the sole of one's foot? I believe the place is one-half sulphur, and the other imprisoned fire, which will some day break forth and light up such a conflagration of earth, sky, and water, as the world has not seen for centuries. See here"—as, driving the end of his walking-stick into the crumbling earth, it began to smoke—"it is too hot to hold already."
The sun was low, as the little party, having lunched at a bungalow specially erected for tourists, took the homeward route.
"There is one more sight, and not the least of the [Pg 144] series," said Warwick, as they approached a curious soot-coloured cone, from which, of course, steam ascended, and strange sounds, with intermittent groanings, made themselves heard.
"The powers be merciful to us mortals, who can but believe and tremble!" ejaculated
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