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201

Canto the Fourth. Fight between ‘Sounding Sea’ and ‘Angry Star.’

1. The assault renewed. 2. A new device. 3. Amohia in the flames. 4. The ‘Angry Star’ and ‘Sounding Sea’—hand to hand. Ranolf to the rescue. 5. The ‘Striker-in-the-Dark.’ Tangi wounded. 6. The ‘Gourd.’

I.

Short breathing time the ‘Angry Star’
Gave Tangi, nor retreated far.
Soon as he saw his feint to draw
The veteran from his Fort had failed,
Again he marshalled all his band
Upon the flat beside the shore.
Then with a new device though planned
Before, with hearts and hopes new-fanned
And by the cunning Priest beguiled
With omens sure and safe, once more
The stubborn stronghold they assailed.
With songs and yells and gestures wild
In swarms across the ditch they swept;
In swarms the broken barrier leapt;
Once more by casual shots annoyed
Around the platform swift deployed.
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Again—scarce waiting their attack—
The fiery Chief, whom neither age
Nor odds nor toil made slow or slack,
Had sallied forth to force them back,
Or hand-to-hand at least engage
The first who scaled that fighting-stage.
So all the terrace circling round
The ramparts, as before, was crowned
With thronging men in deadly broil
O'erthrown—o'erthrowing; a dark coil
Convulsive, fluctuating, dense,
Of agonizing forms confused,
In every violent posture used
In mad attack or tough defence!
A mass of spears and clubs that crossed
And clashed, and limbs that twined and tossed,
As leathery links of seaweed lithe
At ebbing tide on rock-reefs writhe:
And all the forms and limbs exact
In statuesque proportions cast—
Dark symmetry of strength compact,
Where working muscles rose and fell
With shifting undulations fast
As poppling wavelets when the breeze
The tiderip grates in narrow seas!
Till all that ring of wrestlings rife,
Continuous knots of naked strife,
Had seemed, to looker-on at ease,
Some crowded Phigaleian frieze
Or Parthenaic miracle
Of Art awaked to sudden life—
Or worked in terra-cotta, say,
Brown Lapithæ in deadly fray;
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Large-limbed Theseian heroes old,
But darkly dyed, of kindred race,
Whose naked forms of classic mould
In one wide-raging death-embrace
Their naked struggling foes enfold.

II.

But when the fight was at its height
His new device Te Whetu tried.
Up-rushed a shouting band outside
The black-charred fence before laid low.
In order good, a double row
They came; each warrior of the first
Poising a platted green-flax sling
Well wetted in the nearest spring;
And in the sling a red-hot stone,
Which, high above the ramparts thrown
Should soon make such a blaze outburst
From walls of rush and roofs of thatch
As might the whole defences catch,
And force the stifled foe to fly
The Fort he held so stubbornly.
The second rank bore, close behind,
In baskets green with earth safe-lined,
Of heated stones a fresh supply.
Then, at a signal given they hurl
A burning volley, thick and hot
As soft red lumps of scoria whirl,
In showers from dark abysses shot
By old Vesuvius in his play,
His common freaks of every day,
When all his lava floods repose:
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Or such as o'er his creviced snows
The grander Tongaríro throws—
While dread reverberations round
His sulphurous crater-depths resound—
When all the solemn midnight skies
With that red beacon of surprise
He startles—seeming from afar
Though low upon the horizon's bound
Sole object in the vault profound!
So baleful glares its fiery shine,
To all the tribes an ominous sign
Of death and wide disastrous war.
—Now, now, alert and active be,
Ye children of the ‘Sounding Sea!’
Your shifty foes will else make good
The threats erelong that boastful song
Sent echoing late o'er vale and wood!—
Not wholly unprepared they speed
To baulk and baffle if they may
Their fierce assailant's fresh essay.
For they had seen above the green
The smoke of fires lit up when need
Was none of fires for warmth or food;
And soon the project understood.
So all the gourds they could provide
Were ready, every house beside;
And even a large canoe to be
Their tank in this extremity
Hauled up and fitly placed;—all filled
With water from a well, supplied
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Itself by channels issuing through
The rock upon the Lake, below
Its surface cut; their outlet so
From keenest-eyed besiegers' view
Well-hidden by its waters blue.
And when that shower of firestones red
Came whirling, whizzing overhead,
For this vocation primed and drilled,
All those whom duty did not call
To watch the gates, defend the wall—
The old by age outworn, the young
With sinews yet for fight unstrung—
And young or old, the women too,
With Amohia first of all,—
Quick to the calabashes flew
Or tottered as they best could do.
And when the slightest whiff of smoke
From any roof or rush-wall broke,
Some hand was prompt the place to drench
And ere it spread, the burning quench.

III.

But Amo, first among the crowd,
With cheery accents, low not loud,
As if at once their hearts to warm
To effort, yet repress alarm—
With smiles upon her face—howe'er
Her heart might throb with secret care—
Seemed ever everywhere at hand,
To guide, encourage, cheer, command!
And once when fire broke out indeed
And none just then appeared to heed,
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Nor quick enough the water came—
Up to the roof she leapt, she sprung,
And o'er the thatch her mantle flung,
And trampled out the mounting flame.—
With arms and that firm bosom bare,
In skirt of glossy flax, as there
Aloft in such excited mood
Hurrying her hastening handmaids, stood
The dauntless Girl—she looked as rare
For spirit, grace, commanding mien,
As loveliest Amazonian Queen
In those surpassing friezes seen!

IV.

But while this passed upon the hill
The fight below was raging still;
And that resistless ‘Sounding Sea’
At last had met the enemy
Whose death the most, of all the heap
Of slaughter his remorseless blade
That day, a bloody harvest, made,
The haughty Veteran cared to reap.
With satisfaction stern and deep
To feel his foe within his power,
He hurled—through clenching teeth that ground
As if with grim resolve that hour
Should be the last of both or one
And see the hateful contest done—
Defiance at “the slave—the hound!”
Then rushed upon him with a shower
Of blows of such terrific power
And weight and swiftness, left and right—
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The ‘Angry Star,’ who tried in vain
The pelting tempest to sustain,
Was backward borne in self-despite,
Parrying the blows as best he might;
Ducking his head from side to side
Like tortured tree that scarce can bide
The beating of a gusty gale.
But Tangi's breath begins to fail,
The driving blows at length relax;
Less swiftly whirls his battle-axe;
And Whetu in his turn attacks;
But stalking round and round his foe
And watching where a blow to plant,
As runs a Tiger crouching low
Around some wary Elephant,
For chance, with viewless lightning-spring
His weight to launch upon the haunch
Of the dread monster and escape
The white destruction that in shape
Of those impaling tusks still gleams
Before him—still to face him seems
Turn where his eyes' green lustres may!
So watched Te Whetu when to fling
Himself upon that warrior grey—
So round him plied his swinging stride;
Then flew at him with yell and blow
'Twas well for Tangi, eye and hand
Were quick enough to slant aside—
And tough enough his battle-brand
Its sweeping fury to withstand.
Then such a whirling maze began
Of clattering weapons—stroke and guard
And feint and parry, thrust and ward,
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As up and down the axes ran
Together, that no sharpest eye
Could follow their rapidity!
But Tangi, see! has clutched at last
Te Whetu by a necklace fast
The boastful savage ever wore
Of warriors' teeth, a ghastly wreath—
And twists it hard his foe to choke,
And shortens for a final stroke
His axe's hold—but fails once more—
The treacherous chain beneath the strain
Breaks, scattering wide the hideous beads.
Back springs Te Whetu—free again,
The deadly strife may still maintain:
Close follows Tangi; mad to be
Baulked of so sure a victory,
The road beneath him little heeds:
His step upon a spot is set
Where the hard clay is slippery wet
With gore; he slips—he stumbles o'er
A wounded wretch unseen who lies
Right in his path, on crimsoned stones
And dust that chokes a ruddy rill
Slow-creeping but increasing still—
Lies in the pathway there—with eyes
That anguished roll, heartrending groans,
And writhings like a centipede's
Caught in a burning log—and bleeds.
Down, down the Giant goes before
His Foe, who now began to rave
With joy at this unwonted run
Of luck his favouring Atuas gave!
Ere Tangi—old—with toil o'erdone—
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Could raise him from his heavy fall,
He whirled his poleaxe high to end
Him and his triumphs, once for all.—
The blow was never to descend;
For at that instant at full speed
Up Ranolf ran to save his friend:
There was no time for thought, nor need:
Three balls in swift succession sent
Through Whetu's body crashing went,
Down drops his axe—his arms upthrown—
His eyes a moment wildly glare,
Then glaze with fixed and ghastly stare;
His staggering knees give way,—and there
He lies a corpse without a groan!
A pang smote Ranolf—though he knew
There was nought else for him to do.
Slowly rose Tangi; dauntless still;
And half-disposed to take it ill
That Ranolf's shot his debt should pay
And from his clutches snatch his prey.

V.

But when Te Whetu's men beheld
Their ‘Angry Star,’ their hero, slain;
And Tangi up again, unquelled,
With such triumphant fierce disdain
Looking where next to dash among
The thickest of the wavering throng;—
Beheld that Stranger's bearing bold,
And in his firm determined hold
His life-devouring weapon raised;
A terror seized the nearest band—
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Who since the duel first began
Had breathless stood on either hand,
Inactive; wondering, half-amazed
What would the conflict's issue be
'Twixt ‘Angry Star’ and ‘Sounding Sea.’—
Through all the host the panic ran:
Down from the platform headlong leapt
The foremost fighting-men, and swept
Along with them the slingers too
And all the pebble-carrying crew!
Then Tangi, for he saw the rout
Was real this time, began to shout
To all his clansmen to come out,
Pursue and press the flying foe,
And smite and spare not high or low—
No glut of dear revenge forego!
But short his course—his triumph short;
For as he turned him—and addrest
To those behind a brief behest
That some should stay to guard the Fort,
A bullet pierced his rugged breast,
Out of a near plantation fired
By some obscure assailant hid
Behind a fence—ensconced amid
The rattling stems of withered maize—
A parting gift ere he retired;
'Twas Márupo, so named to mark
His ways—the ‘Striker-in-the-Dark.’—
Down sinks the Chieftain—to the ground
Bowed down by that slight-seeming wound;
Yet makes fierce efforts still to raise
The fainting form one elbow stays:
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Still keeps erect that dizzying head,
And lifts the arm that weighs like lead,
And feebly cries a battle-cry
Of Vengeance and of Victory!
Still cheers with broken words and brief
His men, with horror struck and grief
To see thus fall'n their honoured Chief;
But most exhausts his gasping breath
In bidding them avenge his death
By such a havoc of his foes
As shall illume where'er it goes
The tale of his inglorious close.—
His life-blood ebbing, thus he steeled
His old brave heart, nor yet would yield
To be transported from the field;
Less heeding death than this disgrace
To fall by hand obscure or base:
Cursing the coward tools that gave
Such easy power to every slave
To slay the foe he durst not face!—
But while the most his hest obeyed,
With Ranolf some about him stayed;
And with their sturdy tender aid,
The Chief whom nothing could persuade,
But senseless could resist no more,
Into the nearest house he bore.

VI.

Meantime among the host that fled
And few that followed, quickly spread
The rumour Tangi too was dead;
And of the fugitives ahead
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The foremost and least scared began
To make their comrades as they ran
Note their pursuers—far and few—
Their own o'erwhelming numbers too.
They pause—they turn; collect in knots
About the ruined garden-plots;
Not unobserved of him, in place
Of Tangi now who led the chase,
A wary warrior ‘Máwai’ named;—
‘Máwai—the Gourd’—because far-famed
For many a crafty deep design
By sap and trench and secret mine
For creeping into forts—unstayed
By tallest post and palisade;
As sure, though unperceived and slow,
As over fences high or low
That creeping climbing gourd will grow;—
Máwai amid the shrubs and trees
The foe in clusters rallying sees:
So shouts the danger out to all
His headlong comrades within call;
Rates—reasons—threats—entreats and makes
All whom his step or voice o'ertakes
Keep more together—rest content
Just now at least with what was done,
The vengeance taken—victory won.
And thus, with caution, by degrees,
And often turning as they went
As if to ferret out and slay
Chance fugitives that hiding lay—
So that a front they still present
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To that recovering enemy
In crowds tumultuous hovering nigh,
And make him doubt their true intent,—
The scanty band of victors back
To their intrenchments take their way;
Their Fort unconquered still, though black
And reeking from the late attack.
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