CHAPTER IX
INTRODUCTION TO THE CANNIBALS
THE next morning at daybreak a thick fog was clinging
to the surface of the river. A portion of the vapors that
saturated the air were condensed by the cold, and lay as a
dense cloud on the water. But the rays of the sun soon
broke through the watery mass and melted it away.
A tongue of land, sharply pointed and bristling with
bushes, projected into the uniting streams. The swifter
waters of the Waipa rushed against the current of the
Waikato for a quarter of a mile before they mingled with
it; but the calm and majestic river soon quieted the noisy
stream and carried it off quietly in its course to the Pacific
Ocean.
When the vapor disappeared, a boat was seen ascending
the current of the Waikato. It was a canoe seventy feet
long, five broad, and three deep; the prow raised like that
of a Venetian gondola, and the whole hollowed out of a
trunk of a kahikatea. A bed of dry fern was laid at the
bottom. It was swiftly rowed by eight oars, and steered
with a paddle by a man seated in the stern.
This man was a tall Maori, about forty-five years of age,
broad-chested, muscular, with powerfully developed hands
and feet. His prominent and deeply-furrowed brow, his
fierce look, and sinister expression, gave him a formidable
aspect.
Tattooing, or "moko," as the New Zealanders call it,
is a mark of great distinction. None is worthy of these
honorary lines, who has not distinguished himself in repeated fights. The slaves
and the lower class can not obtain this decoration. Chiefs of high position may
be known
by the finish and precision and truth of the design, which
sometimes covers their whole bodies with the figures of
animals. Some are found to undergo the painful operation of "moko" five times.
The more illustrious, the more
illustrated, is the rule of New Zealand.
Dumont D'Urville has given some curious details as to
this custom. He justly observes that "moko" is the counterpart of the armorial
bearings of which many families in
Europe are so vain. But he remarks that there is this
difference: the armorial bearings of Europe are frequently
a proof only of the merits of the first who bore them, and
are no certificate of the merits of his descendants; while the
individual coat-of-arms of the Maori is an irrefragible
proof that it was earned by the display of extraordinary
personal courage.
The practice of tattooing, independently of the consideration it
procures, has also a useful aspect. It gives the cutaneous system an increased
thickness, enabling it to resist
the inclemency of the season and the incessant attacks of
the mosquito.
As to the chief who was steering the canoe, there could
be no mistake. The sharpened albatross bone used by the
Maori tattooer, had five times scored his countenance. He
was in his fifth edition, and betrayed it in his haughty
bearing.
His figure, draped in a large mat woven of "phormium"
trimmed with dogskins, was clothed with a pair of cotton
drawers, blood-stained from recent combats. From the
pendant lobe of his ears hung earrings of green jade, and
round his neck a quivering necklace of "pounamous," a
kind of jade stone sacred among the New Zealanders. At
his side lay an English rifle, and a "patou-patou," a kind
of two-headed ax of an emerald color, and eighteen inches
long. Beside him sat nine armed warriors of inferior rank,
ferocious-looking fellows, some of them suffering from recent wounds. They sat
quite motionless, wrapped in their
flax mantles. Three savage-looking dogs lay at their feet.
The eight rowers in the prow seemed to be servants or
slaves of the chief. They rowed vigorously, and propelled
the boat against the not very rapid current of the Waikato,
with extraordinary velocity.
In the center of this long canoe, with their feet tied together, sat ten
European prisoners closely packed together.
It was Glenarvan and Lady Helena, Mary Grant, Robert,
Paganel, the Major, John Mangles, the steward, and the two
sailors.
The night before, the little band had unwittingly, owing
to the mist, encamped in the midst of a numerous party of
natives. Toward the middle of the night they were surprised in their sleep, were
made prisoners, and carried on
board the canoe. They had not been ill-treated, so far,
but all attempts at resistance had been vain. Their arms
and ammunition were in the hands of the savages, and they
would soon have been targets for their own balls.
They were soon aware, from a few English words used
by the natives, that they were a retreating party of the
tribe who had been beaten and decimated by the English
troops, and were on their way back to the Upper Waikato.
The Maori chief, whose principal warriors had been picked
off by the soldiers of the 42nd Regiment, was returning to
make a final appeal to the tribes of the Waikato district, so
that he might go to the aid of the indomitable William
Thompson, who was still holding his own against the conquerors. The chief's name
was "Kai-Koumou," a name of
evil boding in the native language, meaning "He who eats
the limbs of his enemy." He was bold and brave, but his
cruelty was equally remarkable. No pity was to be ex
pected at his hands. His name was well known to the
English soldiers, and a price had been set on his head by the
governor of New Zealand.
This terrible blow befell Glenarvan at the very moment
when he was about to reach the long-desired haven of
Auckland, and so regain his own country; but no one who
looked at his cool, calm features, could have guessed the
anguish he endured. Glenarvan always rose to his misfortunes. He felt that his
part was to be the strength and
the example of his wife and companions; that he was the
head and chief; ready to die for the rest if circumstances
required it. He was of a deeply religious turn of mind,
and never lost his trust in Providence nor his belief in the
sacred character of his enterprise. In the midst of this
crowning peril he did not give way to any feeling of regret
at having been induced to venture into this country of
savages.
His companions were worthy of him; they entered into
his lofty views; and judging by their haughty demeanor,
it would scarcely have been supposed that they were hurrying to the final
catastrophe. With one accord, and by Glenarvan's advice, they resolved to affect
utter indifference before the natives. It was the only way to impress these
ferocious natures. Savages in general, and particularly the
Maories, have a notion of dignity from which they never
derogate. They respect, above all things, coolness and courage. Glenarvan was
aware that by this mode of procedure,
he and his companions would spare themselves needless
humiliation.
From the moment of embarking, the natives, who were
very taciturn, like all savages, had scarcely exchanged a
word, but from the few sentences they did utter, Glenarvan
felt certain that the English language was familiar to them.
He therefore made up his mind to question the chief on
the fate that awaited them. Addressing himself to Kai-Koumou, he said in a
perfectly unconcerned voice:
"Where are we going, chief?"
Kai-Koumou looked coolly at him and made no answer.
"What are you going to do with us?" pursued Glenarvan.
A sudden gleam flashed into the eyes of Kai-Koumou,
and he said in a deep voice:
"Exchange you, if your own people care to have you;
eat you if they don't."
Glenarvan asked no further questions; but hope revived
in his heart. He concluded that some Maori chiefs had
fallen into the hands of the English, and that the natives
would try to get them exchanged. So they had a chance of
salvation, and the case was not quite so desperate.
The canoe was speeding rapidly up the river. Paganel,
whose excitable temperament always rebounded from one
extreme to the other, had quite regained his spirits. He
consoled himself that the natives were saving them the
trouble of the journey to the English outposts, and that was
so much gain. So he took it quite quietly and followed
on the map the course of the Waikato across the plains and
valleys of the province. Lady Helena and Mary Grant,
concealing their alarm, conversed in a low voice with Glenarvan, and the keenest
physiognomists would have failed to
see any anxiety in their faces.
The Waikato is the national river in New Zealand. It
is to the Maories what the Rhine is to the Germans, and
the Danube to the Slavs. In its course of 200 miles it
waters the finest lands of the North Island, from the province of Wellington to
the province of Auckland. It gave
its name to all those indomitable tribes of the river district,
which rose en masse against the invaders.
The waters of this river are still almost strangers to
any craft but the native canoe. The most audacious tourist
will scarcely venture to invade these sacred shores; in fact,
the Upper Waikato is sealed against profane Europeans.
Paganel was aware of the feelings of veneration with
which the natives regard this great arterial stream. He
knew that the English and German naturalists had never
penetrated further than its junction with the Waipa. He
wondered how far the good pleasure of Kai-Koumou would
carry his captives? He could not have guessed, but for
hearing the word "Taupo" repeatedly uttered between the
chief and his warriors. He consulted his map and saw
that "Taupo" was the name of a lake celebrated in geographical annals, and lying
in the most mountainous part
of the island, at the southern extremity of Auckland province. The Waikato
passes through this lake and then flows
on for 120 miles.