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
"Then you compared notes?"
"Yes. He says it will be the biggest fight of the war; that Waka Nene and Patuone were on the march, with every warrior of the Ngapuhi and the Rarawa. Mannering and Waterton were with them, also Erena. Taranui said she never leaves her father. There were many other women, which makes me think that it is a more serious affair than usual."
"Why should that be?" asked Massinger, heroically concealing his personal interest in this phase of the expedition.
"Because they do not care to leave them at home. They have a notion that in case of defeat the Waikatos might double back and raid their villages."
"What an absurd idea! Surely they can't imagine that, with the forces at our command, such a thing could be possible!"
"Such things have happened in old days," said Slyde. "Defeated tribe suffered horrors unspeakable. Ngapuhis felt no hesitation in inflicting when they were uppermost. Tribal custom. No grounds of complaint if they receive same in turn."
"Fortunately, there's no slavery now; otherwise," [Pg 278] said Warwick, "one could hardly describe the condition of a conquered tribe. The missionaries may be thanked for that. I have heard tales that would make your hair stand on end."
"Much worse than could happen now?" asked Massinger.
"Worse—worse a hundredfold. First of all, the old and helpless would be killed and eaten—yes, eaten before their blood was cold. Any particular family among the captors that had lost relatives would have men or women handed over to them to torture at their pleasure; and great pleasure it seemed to be to prolong the agony and refine the cruelty. All the able-bodied men and women would be carried off as slaves—not only to be used as beasts of burden, but to be held degraded for life as having been slaves. Their lot was a hard one, though occasionally some lived through it, and were now and then freed. Others became distinguished, like Te Waharoa."
"I have heard his history," said Massinger. "What a remarkable man he must have been!"
"He was indeed. Found crying, a small child, among the ruins of his pah at Wanganui, and carried away to Rotorua by Pango, a chief of the Ngatiwhakane, who in after-years piously repented (in 1836) that he had not there and then ended the life of one fated to become the destroyer of his tribe. It did seem ungrateful when he, forty years afterwards, declared war against the tribe that had liberated him, and slaughtered them wholesale at Ohinemutu."
Sleep did not appear to be likely to visit Massinger after what he had heard from Warwick. Long after [Pg 279] his comrades had retired he remained on watch, gazing into the forest, as if he expected the Ngapuhi to debouch thence, with Mannering and Waterton at the head of their warriors, and Erena beside her father, a warrior-maid too proud to remain behind when the great Ngapuhi tribe was on the war-path.
What would be the fate of this strange girl, so subtly compounded of diverse elements, the twin natures within her—the forest life and the civilized—each struggling for the mastery?
And what were his feelings now with respect to her? Could he deny that her image was constantly in his thoughts; that the recollection of her haughty, graceful bearing, her superb form, her lustrous eyes, her radiant smile, combined to form a picture dangerously enthralling? From one fateful syren, so destructive to his peace, his every aim and prospect in life, he had been removed. And now, must a newer "phantom of delight" reappear to disturb his faculties and assail his reason? Whatever might be the result, one thing was certain—his heart swelled with unwonted emotion at the thought of seeing her again.
And under what circumstances were they once more to meet? Not under the fern-arched glades of that enchanted forest, wherein they had wandered side by side so many a mile, carelessly gay as the bird that called above them, looking forward but to the halt by rushing stream or fire-lit camp, amid the silent splendours of the antarctic night. He had thought to regard this fantastic friendship as one of the inevitable episodes of a roving life, productive, doubtless, of a transient series of pleasurable emotions and interesting experiences, but to be disengaged from [Pg 280] his career when serious action was demanded, like the drifting weeds and flowers that for a time impede the flowing tide.
How many men have so judged! How many have discovered that the fragile bonds, to be cast aside as pleasure or interest might dictate, have changed mysteriously into shackles and fetters that hold with inflexible tenacity a long life through?
But who thus argues in the halcyon days of youthful dalliance, when reason is stilled, and every natural feeling exults in joyous possession of the magical hours? The sky is blue and golden, the birds sing, strains of unearthly melody float through the charmed air—immortal, enthralling. Care is defied, sorrow banished. The "vengeance due for all our wrongs" is immeasurably distant. Yet Nemesis—slow-footed sleuth-hound of Fate—is rarely evaded.
A train of depressing reflections may probably have arisen in his midnight musings, not wholly to be disregarded, sanguine as was his nature. But he comforted himself as a last resource with the idea that there was a chance of his being knocked over in the coming engagement, which promised to be of a yet more bloody and obstinate nature than those in which he had already taken part. Having thus arrived at some sort of a conclusion, if not wholly satisfactory, he disposed himself to a slumber from which the bugle-notes of the reveill� only aroused him.
The march had been arranged on the calculation that they would reach Orakau, where the enemy would in all probability join the hostile forces in sufficient time to intercept them, and so destroy the strength of the combination. The order of the day, therefore, [Pg 281] required a continuous march until sundown, after which a halt for refreshment would take place.
The troops would then continue the advance until daylight under the guidance of trusted scouts, of whom Warwick was the leader and interpreter. They would then, it was hoped, be enabled to fall upon the Ngaiterangi unprepared, and deal one of the most decisive blows of the war, besides capturing the Orakau pah, a stronghold of great strength in itself, and the key to a most important position. Artillery, too, would be brought to bear on the pah for breaching purposes. The full strength of the Ngapuhi and Rarawa would also be available. All things looked like an assured victory.
[Pg 282]
While in one hemisphere Roland Massinger was revolving these momentous questions concerning love, duty, happiness, in this world and the next, Hypatia Tollemache was considering almost equally important decisions at the other end of the world.
Her range of thought and feeling was by no means so comprehensive as his, inasmuch as, by adhering to the strict line of duty embodied in altruistic sacrifice, she had considerably narrowed the field of argument. She had definitely abandoned the idea of "slum missionary" effort, having discovered by experience what had been previously suggested to her, that there is an unpleasant, even undesirable, side to these ministrations when the evangelist is a young and handsome woman.
She saw clearly that there were many worthy labourers in that vineyard who, possessing equal zeal, did not suffer from such disqualifications. The illness which she had contracted when weakened by overwork, possibly through infection, had chilled her enthusiasm, perhaps caused her to doubt the expediency of her mission.
She was on the point of reviewing the respective [Pg 283] conditions of missionary life in China and Hindostan, where the Zenana offered so fair a field for reformation by cultured sisterhoods, when she received a letter from her friend Mary Summers, the interpretation of which was, to Hypatia's sympathetic spirit, "Come over and help us."
With Mary Summers she had long since formed a close friendship. They had corresponded regularly since her departure to New Zealand as the wife of the Reverend Cyril Summers. He had been a prot�g� of Bishop Selwyn, and, as a curate, a favourite attendant during the long, quasi-dangerous journeys in which the soul of that latter-day apostle delighted.
As often happens in friendships, and even closer intimacies, the schoolfellows were strongly contrasted in appearance and disposition. The one was tall and fair, with grey-blue eyes, which could flash on occasion. An air of hauteur, chastened by philosophic self-repression, distinguished her. The other was scarce of middle height, with a petite but perfect figure, dark hair, and wistful hazel eyes.
Hypatia was impetuous, disdainful of obstacles, hating the expedient, and scorning danger. Mary was persuasive, self-effacing, soft of speech and manner, of a goodness so pervading that it seemed an impertinence to praise it. Many people were strengthened in their convictions as to a future state by the belief that any such scheme must include a heaven for Mary Summers.
She and her husband had encountered trials and privations, borne unflinchingly. They had reached a moderate degree of success, and, so to speak, prosperity, having come to inhabit a comfortable cottage near [Pg 284] Tauranga, when this lamentable war bade fair to ruin everything, destroying the work of years, and even endangering their safety.
The epistle which decided Hypatia as to locality ran as follows:—
"My dearest Hypatia,
"Wars and alarms still prevail, I grieve to say. The colonists are determined, and the natives desperate, each race fighting as if for existence. Blood has been shed on either side, so that all hope of peace or mediation is at an end. I do not give any opinion as to the policy of the Government. My husband believes that an act of injustice provoked the contest which led to the war. The side on which the fault lay has a heavy account to settle. But now all agree that unless the natives make unconditional submission there is no hope of peace.
"And how terrible are the consequences! It is positively heartbreaking to see the dispersion of native schools, the empty churches, and to hear of promising pupils and converts in the ranks of the enemy—though they have not unlearned, poor things, all that we have been at such pains to teach them. Continually we hear of acts of humanity performed by them while fighting bravely in their own ranks. Poor Henare Taratoa went under fire to fetch water for a wounded soldier in the trenches at the Gate Pah. He himself was killed soon afterwards at Orakau.
"It is affecting to hear, as we did, from a man in active service, of their reading the lessons of the day and singing their psalms in the intervals of the hottest fighting.
[Pg 285]
"These were once our friendly natives, many of whom we know well by name. They will not fight on Sunday, or break the Sabbath in any way, which is more than our troops can say. Though at times downhearted and anxious, Cyril and I feel that we have enjoyed a high privilege in doing our Master's work.
"As to position, we are certainly not too far from the seat of war, but Cyril says they have not as yet harmed any of the missionaries. Outlying settlers have been murdered, and one poor family—but I cannot bear to think of the details.
"We are in God's hands. So far we have been shielded from evil. We are steadfast in faith and trust in the power of our Redeemer. The children and Cyril are well. If only I were a little stronger, and servants were not things of the past, I should be nearly quite happy. Always (in peace or war)
"Your devoted friend,
"Mary Summers."
"Poor dear Mary! Nearly quite happy indeed! Just like her to think of every one but herself. 'If she were only a little stronger!' No servant, too; and here am I, Hypatia Tollemache, as strong as ever I was, now that I have got over that horrid fever; safe, protected, in luxury even, only disturbed by the thought of where I shall betake myself with my gifts and endowments (such as they are), and all uncertain of what good I shall do when I get there. From 'India to the Pole' seems prophetic. I was nearly going to India; now shall I go to the 'Pole'? Yes, I am resolved. Writing to and condoling with poor dear Mary will be saying in effect, [Pg 286] 'Be ye warmed and fed'—the lowest hypocrisy of all, it always seemed to me. I am determined—that is to say, I have fully made up my mind. I will go out and help poor Mary, the Reverend Cyril, and the dear children, besides taking my turn with the heathen, unless they bring their tomahawks to church. It will be a charity worthy of the name. There can be no mortal doubt about
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