Chapter XLIX. 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.

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. 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.

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. Their arms and ammunition were in the hands of the savages, and they would soon have been targets for their own balls.

The chief’s name was Kai-Koumou, meaning “He who eats the limbs of his enemy.” He was bold and brave, but his cruelty was equally remarkable. His name was well known to the English soldiers, and a price had been set on his head by the governor of New Zealand.

Addressing himself to Kai-Koumou, Glenarvan 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 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 consoled himself that the natives were saving them the trouble of the journey to the English outposts.

About a quarter of a mile off, on a craggy spur of the mountain stood a pah, or Maori fortress. The prisoners, whose feet and hands were liberated, were landed one by one, and conducted into it by the warriors. The path lay across fields and a grove of beautiful trees. After a rather circuitous walk, Glenarvan and his party arrived at the pah.

The fortress was defended by an outer inclosure of strong palisades, fifteen feet high; a second line of stakes; then a fence composed of osiers, with loop-holes. On the plateau of the pah, were erected the Maori buildings, and about forty huts arranged symmetrically.

When the captives approached they were horror-struck at the sight of the heads which adorned the posts of the inner circle. Lady Helena and Mary Grant turned away their eyes more with disgust than with terror. These heads were those of hostile chiefs who had fallen in battle, and whose bodies had served to feed the conquerors.

Glenarvan and his companions stood near an empty house. At this moment a hundred Maories were assembled in the pah, old men, full grown men, youths; the former were calm, but gloomy, awaiting the orders of Kai-Koumou.

Kai-Koumou conducted his prisoners to a sacred place, on an abruptly raised plateau at the other end of the pah. In this sacred house the priests taught the Maories about a Triune God, father, son, and bird, or spirit.

In this place, and safe for the moment from the frenzied natives, the captives lay down on the flax mats. Lady Helena was quite exhausted, and she fell helpless into her husband’s arms.

Glenarvan pressed her to his bosom and said:

“Courage, my dear Helena; Heaven will not forsake us!”

Robert squeezed his head through a crevice left between the roof and the walls. From that elevation he could see the whole extent of the pah, and as far as Kai-Koumou’s house.

“They are all crowding round the chief,” said he softly. “They are throwing their arms about… They are howling… Kai-Koumou is trying to speak.”

Then he was silent for a few minutes.

“Kai-Koumou is speaking… The savages are listening…”

“Evidently,” said the Major, “this chief has a personal interest in protecting us. He wants to exchange his prisoners for some chiefs of his tribe!”

“They are listening … They have dispersed, some are gone into their huts … Kai-Koumou is left alone with the warriors of his canoe … Oh! One of them is coming up here …”

“Come down, Robert,” said Glenarvan.

At this moment, Lady Helena who had risen, seized her husband’s arm.

“Edward,” she said in a resolute tone, “neither Mary Grant nor I must fall into the hands of these savages alive!”

And so saying, she handed Glenarvan a loaded revolver.

“Fire-arm!” exclaimed Glenarvan, with flashing eyes.

“Yes! The Maories do not search their prisoners. But, Edward, this is for us, not for them.”

Glenarvan slipped the revolver under his coat; at the same moment the mat at the entrance was raised, and a native entered.

He motioned to the prisoners to follow him. Glenarvan and the rest walked across the pah and stopped before Kai-Koumou. He was surrounded by the warriors of his tribe, and among them the Maori whose canoe joined that of the Kai-Koumou, on the Waikato. He was a man about forty years of age, powerfully built and of fierce and cruel aspect. His name was Kara-Tete, meaning “The irascible” in the native tongue. Kai-Koumou treated him with a certain tone of respect, so it was easy to perceive that Kara-Tete held a lofty position in the tribe, but a keen observer would have guessed the feeling of rivalry that existed between these two chiefs. They both ruled the Waikato tribes, and were equal in authority.

Kai-Koumou interrogated Glenarvan.

“You are English?” said he.

“Yes,” replied Glenarvan.

“And your companions?” said Kai-Koumou.

“My companions are English like myself. We are shipwrecked travelers.”

“That matters little!” was the brutal answer of Kara-Tete. “Every Englishman is an enemy. Your people invaded our island! They robbed our fields! They burned our villages!”

“They were wrong!” said Glenarvan, quietly. “I say so, because I think it, not because I am in your power.”

“Listen,” said Kai-Koumou, “Tohonga, the chief priest of Noui-Atoua has fallen into the hands of your brethren; he is a prisoner. Our deity has commanded us to ransom him. For my own part, I would rather have torn out your heart, I would have stuck your head, and those of your companions, on the posts of that palisade. But Noui-Atoua has spoken.”

As he uttered these words, Kai-Koumou, who till now had been quite unmoved, trembled with rage, and his features expressed intense ferocity.

Then after a few minutes’ interval he proceeded more calmly.

“Do you think the English will exchange you for our Tohonga?”

Glenarvan hesitated, all the while watching the Maori chief.

“I do not know,” said he, after a moment of silence.

“Speak,” returned Kai-Koumou, “is your life worth that of our Tohonga?”

“No,” replied Glenarvan. “I am neither a chief nor a priest among my own people.”

Paganel looked at Glenarvan in amazement.

Kai-Koumou appeared equally astonished.

“You doubt it then?” said he.

“I do not know,” replied Glenarvan.

“Your people will not accept you as an exchange for Tohonga?”

“Me alone? No,” repeated Glenarvan. “All of us perhaps they might.”

“Our Maori custom,” replied Kai-Koumou, “is head for head.”

“Offer first these ladies in exchange for your priest,” said Glenarvan, pointing to Lady Helena and Mary Grant.

Lady Helena was about to interrupt him. But the Major held her back.

“Those two ladies,” continued Glenarvan, bowing respectfully toward Lady Helena and Mary Grant, “are personages of rank in their own country.”

The warrior gazed coldly at his prisoner. An evil smile relaxed his lips for a moment; then he controlled himself, and in a voice of ill-concealed anger:

“Do you hope to deceive Kai-Koumou with lying words? Can not the eyes of Kai-Koumou read hearts?”

And pointing to Lady Helena: “That is your wife?” he said.

“No! Mine!” exclaimed Kara-Tete.

And then pushing his prisoners aside, he laid his hand on the shoulder of Lady Helena, who turned pale at his touch.

“Edward!” cried the unfortunate woman in terror.

Glenarvan, without a word, raised his arm, a shot! and Kara-Tete fell at his feet.

A hundred arms were ready, and Glenarvan’s revolver was snatched from him.

Kai-Koumou glanced at Glenarvan with a curious expression: then with one hand protecting Glenarvan, with the other he waved off the crowd.

At last his voice was heard above the tumult.

“Taboo! Taboo!” he shouted.

At that word the crowd stood still before Glenarvan and his companions. A few minutes after they were re-conducted to their prison. But Robert Grant and Paganel were not with them.